#mesh relay

[vortexofadigitalkind]

The Echoes of Eidon - What the Sky Forgot.

Previously: A false voice echoed in Kai’s name. Pilgrim hesitated. Echo resisted. Scriptor continued to write. But now the sky listens. The Final Pulse The moment had no countdown. No uplink protocol. No network handshake. Pilgrim simply stood still, limbs locked, antenna extended. The relay tower ahead of him was older than memory, one of the original terraformers’ seed spires. Now dormant.…

[enhalouv]

hyung line - when you want his attention while he's on the phone

a/n: another lil easing in w some pov !! hope u enjoy hehe

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

warning: SMUT!, corporate!enha hyung line, derogative language (c!nt), oral, unprotected sex, voyeur, public-ish sex, a mention of a foot, cursing, lil dub-con

w.c: 1,541

Heeseung

“Well, I’ll be in the office quite late, so there shouldn’t be a problem with finishing it.”

Heeseung’s playing with the papers on his desk, a contract awaiting his signature. He knows it’s important, but it’s 3 hours past work hours and he’s finding it difficult to concentrate on the vital information dump. 

Nonetheless, he tries his best. Soon enough, he finds himself absorbed in hearing what his colleague says regarding a business deal they’re both working on. 

He’s so distracted, he almost misses you walking in. 

Almost. 

It’s hard to miss you when you’re in the lingerie set he brought you back from his business meeting in London. You look beautiful. Heeseung leans back on his chair, hand gripping the armrest as he shifts his legs forward to relieve the pressure of his growing erection. 

The set was something he noticed in the shop window of a high-end sex store. Heeseung imagined your beautiful body gripped tight by the material of the lingerie. He hadn’t even hesitated to buy it, disregarding the quadruple-digit price tag entirely. The lingerie was barely concealing anything. Mesh and lace exactly hugging your skin the way Heeseung knew it would. God, he’s drooling. 

“Well, the client needs to confirm the fee estimate before we can get started. But he’s barely responding…”

The voice of his colleague flows in one ear and out the other, his attention solely on the way you stroll into his room. His breath hitches when you drop onto your knees in front of him. 

“Pay attention to your call, Hee. It must be important.” You’re being cheeky. Lips pulled into an innocent smile like you’re not working to unbuckle his belt. 

Heeseung’s straining through his slacks, his grip on the armrest of his chair tightening as you palm his cock. 

“Heeseung?”

His attention gets drawn back by the call of his name. “Yes?”

“Were you listening?”

“Sorry,” Heeseung chuckles, a hand going to grip the back of your head as you mouth at his cock through his underwear. “Just got a bit distracted there, what did you say?”

“I was saying…”

The call drifts out of his mind, his phone dangling precariously in his fingers. His business partner continues to update him on something- Heeseung doesn’t care. All he cares about is the warmth your wet mouth provides as you suck his cock down your throat. 

Jongseong

You’d been acting up. Whined and tugged at Jay to give you attention while he answered an important work call. 

You were being a brat. 

Jay wasn’t so nice when you acted out. So, now you’re on all fours, being pounded by your boyfriend from behind. A hand firmly covering your mouth to prevent any noise from coming out, less the person on the other end hearing how Jay makes your head spin. 

He’s relentless with his thrusts, a hand pushes your back into a deeper curve, and the other holds a phone to his ear. He’s responding with a steady voice, one that doesn’t give away the way he’s got you unravelling on his cock. 

“Actually,” Jay cuts the other person off, slowing down his thrusts and pushing in deeper. “Can you relay that to my assistant, she’ll be much better at ensuring this job gets completed.” 

You’re barely paying attention, the new pace making you drool from how deep your boyfriend is going. 

“She’s here right now, let me pass you to her.”

Without hesitation, Jay leans forward pushing deeper into you and puts his phone against your ear. You begin to panic as Jay shows no signs of stopping. What the actual fuck is he thinking?

“Hello?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

“Go on, love,” Jay’s voice is low as he speaks to you, careful to not let it get caught by the phone’s microphone. “Answer him.”

You grip the phone hard against your ear, trying to breathe deeply to steady your voice before responding, “Yes, h-hello, I’m Jay’s assistant. Please c-continue.”

The voice on the other end filters in and Jay’s being kinder and slowing down his thrusts, hips resting against your ass as he pushes shallowly into you. You’re thankful that he wasn’t being heartless, and you try your hardest to listen to what’s being said. 

But before long, your hand slaps against your mouth as Jay pushes your back as deep as it curves and grips your hips and thrusts in so deep, you see stars. Jay begins a brutal pace, uncaring of how hard you’re trying to be quiet. 

You’re absolutely fucked. 

Jaeyun

He should be listening to his colleague on the other end of the call. This was an important business deal that would cost his company thousands if he fucks it up. 

But you’re right in front of him with two fingers deep in your cunt, and his attention was otherwise occupied. There’s no way his eyes, let alone mind, could drift from the way you play with your pretty pussy.

You’re spread out on his desk, one leg up and the other hanging between his own. The heel of your foot presses against his hard-on, the pressure not being enough for his cock. His hips subconsciously grind up into it, his slacks straining against his thighs at the motion.

“Will you be in tomorrow? I want us to delegate some tasks to the team.”

Jake hums absentmindedly, lips tucked between his teeth as you slip your fingers out and lead them up to your mouth. He tries his best not to groan into the receiver as you lick your fingers clean, spit dribbling out your mouth in an obscene mess. 

Fuck this. 

He puts his phone on speaker and places it on the other end of his desk. With his now free hands, he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of his table and immediately shoves his face in between your thighs, desperate to taste your sweet cunt. 

Your thighs wrap around his head, hands gripping his hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit and slides against you. His fingers creep up your leg making you shiver. You're straining hard to be quiet, biting onto the palm you've clasped over your mouth.

Jake's fingers circle your hole, huffing out a laugh when your whole body jerks at his teasing, and slides two in. He works two digits into your cunt, cum squelching as he pushes in deep. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth, loving the way you tense in his hold.

“Jake, you there? What was that sound?”

Parting from your clit, Jake still fucks his fingers into you. Uncaring of the way you're gripping his dress shirt, eyes squeezed tight as you're nearing closer and closer to orgasm. There's no way he's going to stop now.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, his voice strained. “I'm listening. Just getting ready to head to the gym. Uh- stretching and stuff.”

“oh, okay… anyways-"

Jake doesn't hesitate to get his mouth onto your cunt just as you shake in his hold, cumming straight on his tongue. So worth it.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon’s barely paying attention to his boss in the other line as it is, but the moment you walk in with the cute loungewear set he bought you, his attention entirely zeros in on you. 

The shorts are tiny and ride up your thighs as you walk towards him. There’s a cheeky smile on your face, and Sunghoon should know by now that’s never a good sign. But really, he can’t find his attention deterring from how glorious your legs look. 

With no words being exchanged, you perch yourself on his lap. Sunghoon’s free arm immediately wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in close. He stretches his arm out with the phone so the microphone doesn’t pick up the chaste kiss he leaves on your lips.

“Hi there, darling.”

Sunghoon is infatuated with you, eyes never straying away from your face. He can’t find himself caring about the possible reprimanding he’ll get tomorrow for not listening to his boss’ instructions. His girl is in his lap, looking unbelievably gorgeous and grinding down into his half-hard cock. 

Wait. 

His mind short-circuits as you continue to roll your hips, a devious smile on your face as you watch Sunghoon’s reactions. 

You pull his pants down until they’re halfway down his thighs, gripping his cock to stroke him a few times. Sunghoon’s hips jump at the contact, thighs tensing at the feeling. 

You eventually lift yourself up with Sunghoon’s help, pulling your shorts to the side to show your dripping cunt. No panties. Good God. 

Your hips circle the tip of his cock, teasing. He hisses when you slide down on his cock, you’re tight and so, so warm it has his head tossing back in pleasure. 

“Sorry? What was that, Sunghoon?”

His boss’ voice filters through and Sunghoon has to remind himself he’s actually on a phone call. But the way you’re rolling your hips in his lap is making it a difficult task to remember. 

“Ah, sorry, I just got a paper cut,” he lets out a fake chuckle, gripping your ass harder. 

You continue to bounce on his cock and Sunghoon continues to lose his mind.

[rabotimagines]

"Insecticon assault" GN BOT Reader x The insecticons (Noncon!)

Summary: Reader experiences a triple insecticon attack while under Bombshells' outlier ability.

Warnings: Noncon!, Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: The insecticons!

Genre/Theme: Smut 🔞 Scenario

Notes: Reader gets hit with one of bombshells mind control shells. They call reader "slave" because of this. Reader has limited control of themselves. Reader is also mostly just annoyed about the entire ordeal to be completely honest. Autobot reader!

Pronouns: You, your, yours, them, they, their

You don't know how the pit you got into this situation. You were on night watch and saw some suspicious activity on the outside the ark camera so you noted it to Teletraan 1 to alert the others if you didn't relay back in a few klicks and went to check it out. Next thing you know, you're getting electrocuted so hard your senses reset themselves. You come to on your back with the spark damned insecticons standing over you. You jerk upwards, ready to physically bash your way out if you have too, only for Bombshell to shove himself forward and something to strike you in between your optical ridge.

You have half a nanoklick to realize you're fragged before your frame slacks of its own accord under Bombshells control. "Ha lucky- lucky! We got the one we wanted! Wanted-!" Shrapnel grabs at your faceplate and tilts your helm side to side.

"Autobot slave! You'll forget how to use your communication system while under our command." Bombshells voice is ringing on your audials, and just like that, you forget exactly how to use your com system. Oh Primus, what were they gonna have you do for them. Slag, what could they have you do before Teletrann 1 alerted the others-?

"Lie back slave!" Your frame slacks on the ground, and you're staring at the trees now- "Open your interface panel." Oh- Wait- This is happening? Your interface panel snapped back, exposing your array to the open air. Digits are suddenly rubbing between your valve mesh and- Oh yeah, this was apparently just happening!

"Slave, you're in control of your own frame, As long as you don't move from your spot on the ground, close your panel, or touch my shell." Your optics snap wide when you abruptly have even partial control of yourself again. And you have exactly enough time to get your elbows under you before you get jumped.

Now you're staring down, wide opticed, at the insecticons who've readily taken to slobbering all over your array. Bombshells between your thighs and using his usually hidden mouth to lap greedy strips along your valve. (Why is his glossia so long!?) You can't see him over Kickback and Shrapnel. Who are on either side of your hips and dragging their glossias along the length of your spike. Your servos had tried to push at them, but it only served for both of them to grab one of your wrists. You hissed in a vent and watched when Shrapnel dragged his glossia along the underside of your spikes head. Your spike throbbed on the insecticons' glossia, while Kickback dragged his own glossia along the side of your shaft. Bombshells digits suddenly slipping inside your valve made you buck your hips. "Slave tastes good. Good-!" Shrapnel's words sends humming fits down your spike since he's muttering against you.

You can- Can you call for help? Slag, would it be loud enough, though? It might just only make them order you to stay quiet- and Teletraan 1 should alert someone soon anyway. You just needed to hold on- Bombshell sucking hard on your anterior node makes you cry out and abruptly start overloading right onto Shrapnel. Shrapnel got a splash of your transfluid right in the faceplate, which made him jerk back in surprise. Kickback only leaned forward and started stroking your spike off as you continued overloaded all over yourself. You grunted when bombshell began to curl his digits and lap at your anterior node.

"Naughty slave." Kickback murmured and started lapping at your spike again- like you hadn't just overloaded. Shrapnel wiped your transfluid off of his faceplate and lapped it off his own digits before joining Kickback in cleaning your spike- Slag slag slag- You were sensitive still- Your digits flexed against the dirt.

"Stop-" you whined when Bombshell quickly pulled his digits out of your valve. You could see his helm suddenly, his mask back in place, and something else was pressing against your valve- "Don't-!" Bombshell bottomed out inside you with no remorse. Your back jerked, but your frame refused to raise off the ground. You could only grunt when his hips snapped against your aft in short but forceful thursts.

Bombshell groaned, "Your valves taking me well, slave." Bombshell brazenly admitted, before grabbing one of your legs to hoist onto his own pauldron. His pelvis knocked against your aft every time he thrust back into your valve.

Your attention was quickly brought back to your lap when Kickback and Shrapnel actually started fighting over your spike. Kickback finally raised a leg and smashed it into Shrapnels chassis, sending him tumbling off through the shrubbery. Kickback laughed and threw the already raised leg over your hip. The cons array snapped back, spike pressurizing and valve dripping onto your own plating. Kickback lowered himself, making your spike kiss his valve entrance. "Wait-" Bombshell bottomed out in you hard enough, his pelvis grinded down on your anterior node- And Kickbacks valve was suddenly taking in the entire length of your spike. Your servos latched onto Kickbacks waist, your digits tight enough to want to warp the metal underneath it.

Kickback only laughed "Big- and nice." Kickback rocked back and forth, and you whined through clenched denta. His valve squeezing down on you without remorse. Kickback didn't hesitate to get his own thighs under him and promptly start slamming himself up and back down your length. Valve fluttering over your spike and making your thoughts get even more muddled. Bombshells spike slammed into a deeper pleasure node, and you cried out again.

"Slagger Kickback! Slagger-!" Shrapnel hissed, scampering back over to where you were. You didn't even have the chance to glance at the angry con. Too focused on getting fragged and rode with no regard. So you weren't exactly ready when Shrapnel suddenly straddled your throat with his array out. "Use your glossia slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened on its own accord, and Shrapnel didn't wait to sit his valve right on top of your faceplate. Your muffled noise of protest only made Shrapnel grind down on you with a huffy laugh. Your servos abandoned Kickbacks waist and clung onto Shrapnels thighs instead. Your glossia moved itself against Shrapnels mesh and node. At least he didn't taste terrible (Small mercies.). But Primus, they were using you like an interface toy!

You groaned against Shrapnel when Bombshells spike smacked into another deeper node in your valve. You instinctively clenched down on his length, which made the con groan. Bombshells thrusts only picked up till he was practically slamming back into you to bottom out every time. Kickback started picking up his own pace, his servos grabbing onto your chassis. Thighs working faster to frag himself down your spike. Shrapnel only ground down more enthusiastically, his servos grabbing at your helm kibble. "Good slave-! Take it- take it!" You groaned against his valve, and you felt your second overload rear it's helm and smack you right in the chassis.

You arched as well as you good against the three of them. Overloading under the triple insecticon assault. Kickback overloaded right after you, his valve fluttering in pulses around your spike. Kickback laughed and ground down on your length through his own overload, making you keen pathetically against Shrapnel. Bombshell overloaded next, spike buried deep as he could be inside you and pumping your valve full of transfluid. His servos were squeezing your thighs, and you could feel what you thought was his glossia lapping strips along your leg. Shrapnel finally overloaded with a breathy cackle- hips grinding down on your faceplate through it. Servos clutching your kibble tight and keeping your helm still. Once Shrapnel finally slacked, you relaxed under all three of them.

Shrapnel pulled himself off of your faceplate. You gasped in vents only to watch Shrapnel turn, so he was above your helm- you tilted your helm back to keep a view on him only to find his spike tip kissing your derma. "Now take my spike! Open up slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened of its own volition, and Sharpnel shoved his spike into your intake. A muffled noise echoed out of you when Kickback started fragging himself back on your spike again. Bombshell followed soon after and started fragging your valve again. Valve fluttering and squelching when he fragged his own transfluid out of you.

Frag- They were insatiable- they always were! Just- you just needed to wait for help- you could do that! Your glossia lapped along Shrapnels spike, your servos grabbing back onto Kickbacks waist for some type of purchase. You could survive this- just- You needed to hold on. You could hold on!

...Right?

-

It was morning, the sun streaming through the gaps in the trees. Your helm was fuzzy from how many overloads the insecticons dragged out of you. If the insecticons are smaller then you (which considering they were about minibot sized, the chances were high) They'd end up figuring out that you can take two of their spikes in your valve at the same time. After that, your valve was constantly double stuffed for the rest of the night. (If you're noticeably bigger than them, then they will attempt to fit all three of their spikes in your valve simultaneously.)

They ended up making you overload so hard at the end that your senses reset again. Only when you came to this time, they were gone. Bombshell did not pull his shell off of your helm before he left, so you're stuck on the ground- Covered in transfluid and fragged silly. With copious amounts of transfluid still dripping out of your valve. Waiting for rescue still- Primus, you wish you remembered how to use your comm system.

"-I don't understand how Teletraan 1 shorted out." A familiar voice makes you perk up- as well as you could anyway still stuck on the ground.

"There was a big electrical surge, and Teletraan 1 couldn't handle the output, so Teletrann 1 reset and couldn't turn back on. We only realized it this morning- and they sent that alert actual earth hours ago- I just hope they're okay."

Hoist! And Grapple! Primus! Okay! You could get help. And well... it suddenly made sense why you got fragged till morning with no help at all.

You glanced down at your transfluid stained self.

Yeah, there was no hiding this. You were covered in purple, dark, and silver paint transfers, too. You stared at your still open modesty panel. Which you still couldn't close because of the shell...

Slag it all. Hoist was a medic, and Grapple wasn't the type to gossip. At least your spike wasn't still pressurized. Plus, you technically just got... sexually assaulted. And neither of them were afts, so you should be fine.

Knowing you wouldn't keep what little dignity you had you through your helm back and shouted for help. You thankfully heard your designation being called back and the shrubbery starting to shuffle towards you.

At least Red Alert couldn't be mad at you for abandoning your post... small mercies.

...

And thank Primus Ratchet had replaced your baffles last week... Primus sized mercies.

[fanaticsnail]

Shameless: 1/3

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,285

(Image Source)

Synopsis: You have a type, one that has been forcefully revealed by your crewmen's incessant nagging. After being ordered to return to your workshop to receive further instruction, you become fully aware of why you have been hidden away from meeting with the captain of the Victoria Punk. He was exactly your type.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Eustass Kid. It was meant to be a one-shot, but it quickly got out of hand very fast. Looks like a two or three parter. afab!reader - but can be read as gn.

Themes: senseless flirting, mature themes, NSFW language, choking, vulgarity, promiscuity, shamelessness, heart-pirate!reader x captain!Eustass Kid, this reader is a perpetual and shameless flirt, heart pirates x reader, partial zoro x reader, platonic law x reader.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @since-im-already-here

Song Suggestion: It's Cuffing Season - Dj Rehan, JW Velly

Within the rotund chasm of the crew dining quarters rung a loud and rambunctious melody. The sway of your hips and the lyrics falling from your smiling lips alongside Shachi and Penguin had the mood of the hour joyful and merry. The speakers ignited with the crackle of the powerful ballad screaming over the powered mounted system bordering the ceiling. You swayed your body with Ikkaku’s, your lips relaying the lyrics to the rambunctious melody with a suggestive smile, a smile mirrored by her own elevating to her lips.

These were the cool-down hours: where the Heart-Pirate crew were able to complete tasks they had set aside, or wind down after a hard day's work of following Captain Law’s orders aboard the Polar Tang. Despite his tired and lackluster expression constantly painted across his exhausted face, your captain, Trafalgar D Water-Law, encouraged his entire crew to engage in some lesser restraint as they quiet down before the changeover in shift. 

Law was yet to join in on the celebrations, opting to remain behind in his office for reasons you were yet to become privy to. Although he never allowed himself to truly let go and sway his hips, cry tactless lyrics into the air; he truly enjoyed witnessing the crew join together like this. There were only a few songs he would ever mutter the lyrics along to, most of which were harder in musicality, angst-driven in their choruses, and distorted in tonality. Yet, he would always have a soft smile elevated on his lips when the few of you would gyrate, sway, sing and scream alongside the music over the speakers. 

As Shachi drew a stainless steel whisk up to his lips and began to shout the lyrics into the crossed tip, the music cut out from its place within the electrical power system. In its stead, Captain Trafalgar Law’s voice dictated a few short and curt orders. 

“All hands above deck. Repeat, all hands to the deck. Prepare the Polar Tang to be boarded for a Nakama encounter,” you snapped to the direction of the speaker, Ikkaku’s dancing movements halting beside yours as you listened for further instruction over the system. As no further orders fell from the mechanical mesh, you readjusted your fallen zipper of your white, boiler jumpsuit and spring into action.

“Ohh, a crew boarding? I hope it’s the Straw-Hats! I want to see that little reindeer again,” Bepo noted politely, the thump of his heavy feet stomping along the iron floor beside your smaller steps almost comical. 

“Oh, the crew with the green-haired swordsman coming aboard again?” You asked him, brow quirking and smirk rising at the corner of your lips. Ikkaku laughed at your comment, clapping you on the shoulder and walking with Shachi and Penguin in tow behind you. 

“The one that was almost your type?” Ikkaku’s smile quirked up at Shachi’s question, his arm hooking over your neck as he spoke down into your ear. 

“But not quite, remember?” You giggled at him, playfully extending the sharp secondary knuckle of your index finger into his ribcage, his breath huffing out a hasty exhale at the jolt. Ikkaku and Penguin laughed at Shachi’s wince of pain, his laughter also rising with his crewmates’ and your own. 

Amongst the Heart-Pirates, the crew were not unaccustomed to your unrestrained flirting with them. From your close proximity, to the brush of your fingertips, to a warm embrace offered from your arms, to you lounging against them in the quiet hours. But most of all, your vulgar and unwithheld language going far enough to make the most hardened members of the Heart-Pirates’ cheeks tint crimson. 

It was a game to you, keeping things lively and interesting aboard your ship as you served alongside them as Law’s chief tinkerer. Nothing ever came of the suggestive conversations and provocative language you offered aside from a friendly kiss, alongside the words, “Sorry, love. You’re not my type.” 

As your feet met with the grated bars of the steel steps leading to the deck, Law’s voice cut over the speakers once more to address the crew.

“All hands to the deck, aside from my tinkerer. Go to your workshop and await further instruction,” the distorted crack of his voice did very little to mask the disdain in his voice. There was something bothering your captain - such a bother depicted in his bored and aloof tone. The harbor which anchored such a dirge-like expression which you had very little explanation for. That was, until, the snickering beside you hissed through the smiling teeth of the three human crew members beside you. 

“What’s so funny?” you spat, shimmying from the crook of Shachi’s arm and facing the four of them with your hands on your hips. 

“Oh, nothing,” Ikkaku giggled before sucking her lips into her mouth to stifle more of her laughter from freely falling from between them. You glanced between the other three, all raising their hands in defense to your pointed gaze. 

“Alright, keep your damn secrets to yourselves,” you scoffed, turning your nose up in the air at them before snuggling into Bepo, who eagerly returned your brief embrace, “I’ll see you after the Nakama meet up, I suppose.” They bid their farewells to you, snickering and giggling as they exited the iron hatch of the Polar Tang to rise above decks. 

After sculking the halls down the long and lonely corridors to your office, you were shocked at the sight greeting you upon opening the large door. Although he depicted further instruction was awaiting you, you were anticipating private instruction to be carried through your personal Den-Den-Mushi rather than meeting with your Captain himself. 

Captain Law was sitting at your desk, his ankles hooked on top of your workbench with his hands laced behind his head, cradling his neck. He lazily glanced through the corner of his eyes at you before slowly unlacing his ankles and rising to his feet. His fingertips clasped his impressive sword, the smoothness of his scabbard reflected in the dim light of your office. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Cap? Shouldn’t you be-?” you began, your words halted immediately by Law’s response.

“-Cut the shit, Tink,” your titled nickname falling in lieu of your real name or formal title from Law’s lips. You relaxed your shoulder against the doorframe, folding your arms across your chest while pursing your lips. You tapped your index finger on your bicep while you awaited further direction from the man in front of you. 

With an exasperated sigh, he elevated his slender, tattooed, fingers to his brow and pinched the center between his index and thumb. He huffed a final growl before he bore his honeyed eyes into your awaiting features. 

“It seems I will be unable to keep you distracted for the entire time they’ll be here this time,” he muttered to himself in a voice almost impossible for you to catch. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to question him further. He halted your words by removing his fingers from his brow to face his palm out to you.

“I am going to say this one time, and one time only,” he continued to hold his intense and stern gaze into your eyes, “Don’t.” 

“‘Don’t’ what, Law? What are you talking about-?” you began, halted again by Law’s dictation once again.

“-Just...” Law turned his face slightly away from you, “...-Just don’t, okay? I know you, I know what you’re like, and I’m just letting you know now, and know once. Don’t.”

You were unable to form an adequate response before he stormed out of your workshop and wordlessly gestured for you to follow behind him above deck with his index finger, a hooked motion calling to you. Your captain’s words swirled in your head, your eyes locking on to his neck and tracing his skin with your inquisitive gaze. 

-

Your relationship with your captain was as close a friendship as you could ever muster with such a person. He sought out your skills as a tinkerer, your reputation preceding you when you demonstrated your skilled hands to him. You both bonded over unique collections, his coins and comics, your rocks and pinned insect and arachnid display. Both having a unique place to relay information about your special and unique interests with one another was sacred, and so incredibly special to the both of you.

Where Law and you differed was in how you chose to display your humors: Law holding his hand close to his chest before he truly displays how unhinged his humor was with dark commentary, whereas you were a perpetual flirt with provocative language and sultry advances. You both held each other in a professional standing, before your words took a turn for requited flirtation. Law would reciprocate your vulgarity, and you would mirror back that darkness he expressed, if ever your conversations became flirtatious and humorous with him. 

And that is where, like the others, you ended the flirtatious rapport with a simple utterance of: “Forgive me, Cap. You’re not my type,” which threw the captain and crew into an uproar of outrageous laughter. Speculating on what exactly your type was, you finally gave into their incessant interrogation after being offered your fifth drink for the evening from the hands of Shachi. 

“Fine,” you spat, your arm swaying as you handled your filled pint, “I like them big. And I truly mean big. Like, throw me over the shoulder big. Like, ‘will it fit’ big. Especially if they’ve got that feral twinkle in their eyes that looks at you like they’d want to kill you,” you confessed, your voice swooning at the thought. After taking a heaping gulp from your drink, you added, “You’re all very beautiful, handsome, and spectacular. But, I just need someone who looks like they could lovingly and desperately break me in half. Bonus points if they’re good with machines, so we can bond.”

After coming down from your whimsical confession, you glanced at the crew. Bepo’s ears were covered by both Shachi and Penguin’s hands - all three of their jaws comically slackened. Law’s teeth were clenched in an awkward, cringe-like, straightened smile with lazy, half-hooded eyes. Ikkaku’s cheeks were tinted red with the elevated hue of rushed blood, her lips broken into a wide grin with her eyes twinkling at the confession. 

All of these things were true. You were a person of refined taste, a taste which seemed scarce to come by with the crew you had found yourself working beside. There was Jean Bart, but he was not overly interested in tending to a relationship with you. There was Uni, but your interests fell short when he only depicted gentleness and kindness towards you in lieu of your craving for something more brutal. 

Both men remained high spirited and friendly with you despite your attempt at a fling with them falling through. You needed something more. Something more unhinged. Something a little unpredictable, feral and dangerous. 

-

As Law led you above deck, the voice of Jean Bart called for all crew to fall in line to welcome the Nakama crew above deck. Without looking up, you hastily drew yourself between Penguin and Ikkaku, Shachi on the other side of Penguin and Bepo beside Ikkaku as you all stood alert with your arms by your sides.

“At ease, Heart-Pirates,” Law commanded, shooting you one more pointed and narrow-eyed look before turning back to speak with the foreign captains and their crews. It seemed two crews had joined the deck of the Polar Tang: The Straw-Hat Pirates alongside another crew you did not recognise. You quickly examined the First-Mate of the Straw-Hat crew, who met your eyes with a small smirk before returning back to fix his gaze on his captain alongside his crew. 

Zoro was almost your type. A night you shared with one another, being evidence enough to your crew, that you had nearly found someone you deemed feral and hulking enough to share in your company. When your lips met his: his actions were closer to timid and gentle as they joined with yours. The fires of passion were there, the small amount of danger also present, but he was still not your type. He was handsome, sure enough. He was aggressive, absolutely. He reciprocated your flirtations with a small elevation of flush tinting his cheeks a warm hue of pink, which you found endearing. 

The night concluded with a few deepened kisses, roaming touches from your hands holding each other firmly beneath the stars aboard the Sunny. However, nothing further ever came between the two of you. After that night, the you both remained quite good friends and shared in each other's company, with unhinged and illicit conversation, each time Law met with his captain. He kept pace with you when you drank, spurting dark vulgarity subtly into your ear at the dining table when your crews met; but it was all in good humor and never truly to initiate anything rising further between you. 

A small pull at the corner of your sleeve from Ikkaku broke you away from your reminiscing, your face turning to look at her with your brows knitting in confusion. Her lips were sucked into her mouth, her eyes wide in excitement as she bore her gaze directly ahead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” your hushed whisper growled at her. She removed her grip on your sleeve and raised her hand to your chin, turning your head without pulling her eyes away from their fixed point in front of her. 

“This is who the Captain was keeping from you. Ever wonder why he’d been working you so hard when we meet up with certain crews? He’s why,” she muttered, her lips still sucked within her lips to stifle her rising joy. You allowed her to turn your jaw ahead, your eyes meeting with a hulking figure of a man with fiery red hair. 

Your jaw fell slack before your lips pulled up into a broad smile as your eyes fixed themselves on him. He was intimidating, he was hulking, and he was big. Your eyes shamelessly raked themselves over his body, halting on his calves, his thighs, his ass, his arm, his metal arm, his broad chest, his grimace, his makeup, his blaster goggles hoisting his untamed locks away from his face-. 

-You hastily drew your eyes back to his left arm, metal in make and incredibly large. It looked heavy, intricate, and mechanical. Your interest deepened at each sway of his arms, flex of his muscles and wind of cogs and bolts within his intricate piece attached to his severed limb. Starstruck, captivated, and interest immediately peaked; you continued to rake your eyes over this foreign man aboard the Polar Tang. 

“O-Oh? Oh m-my-...” you couldn’t find the words to form a cohesive string of sentences, your eyes fixed on his arm as you studied it. His mechanical fingertips were clenching, his grimace splitting his scarred face, and his hair bobbing beneath blaster goggles each time he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I know, right? Law has been trying so desperately to keep you from meeting him,” Ikkaku added, prompting you to hum deeply in interest with your tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip. 

“That’s your type, then?” Penguin and Shachi uttered in unison, their downturned smiles through gritted teeth cringing through the question. 

“That’s-,” you took a moment to collect your thoughts, swallowing a lump of dry saliva within your mouth, ”-Exactly, my type,” you gasped, nodding as you spoke aloud. 

“And this is why each time we see the Victoria Punk, we have to keep you below deck and distracted,” Ikkaku managed to stutter out through her giggles. You quickly snapped your eyes back to her, your gaze narrowed and accusatory.

“We’ve had him,” you snapped your eyes away from the hulking gentleman to stare at Ikkaku, “On the Polar Tang more than once?” You snapped your eyes from Ikkaku to turn to Penguin on your other side, “And you managed to keep me distracted?” you uttered through gritted teeth. Ikkaku shrugged her shoulders, puffing out her cheeks to halt an uproar of laughter from falling from her lips. 

“Captain’s orders,” Shachi confirmed with a curt nod, stooping out from falling in line to meet his spectacle-covered eyes with yours, “He knows what you’re like, and how you’d react.” He stepped back in line and grunted out a soft cough to clear his throat. 

You turned your eyes back to the redhead, quickly looking over his hulking crew before hardening your resolve and humming deeply. 

“I am-...” you began, raking your eyes back over his body again, “...-I am going to climb him like a tree.” 

Snickers began to fall through the nose of Ikkaku, a small giggle elevating in Penguin’s chest, a huff of air snorting through Shachi’s nose.

“I gotta know what that hand does,” you confessed, your eyes full of wonderment and your tone full of longing desire, “What it feels like. Is it smooth? Does it have different settings? Is it cold? Can he control the pressure? I have to know, for science. I want him-...” you trailed off before dreamily adding: “...-To choke me.” 

More laughter and teeters from your friends around you threatened to break through the seal of their clenched lips, Penguin raising his palm to halt his laughter. 

“Look at his eyes. He’s got so much pent up hate in that twinkle,” you continued, a whimsical sigh exiting your lips, “I hope he’s the type that scowls into your face while he fucks you hard. Or maybe he’s the type to bend you over a desk while he frantically rams himself into you.” 

Ikkaku’s higher pitched whimpered laughter almost broke through her lips, elevating both her hands to clench over the bottom half of her face to stifle her laughter. Penguin was not faring much better, his teeters boiling close to breaking point. Shachi pulled his hat over his eyes in an effort to hide his blush.

“I wonder if all of him is as big, hard and angry as the rest of him,” you hummed, deep in thought. A choked snort threatened to break through Shachi’s nose, Ikkaku held her breath while Penguin cringed behind his palm. 

Zoro immediately drew his eye away from his captain and examined the five of you all huddled together in a line. He focussed on your lips moving, reading the unhinged commentary you were entertaining your crewmen with: noticing your gaze was fixed on Eustass Kid. His smirk immediately broke up his lips, his eyes closing as he huffed out a subtle laugh he disguised with a cough. 

“And the scars. Are they sensitive? I wonder if he’d writhe when I lick them,” you spoke with wonderment, “How far do they go down? Is it just his face, neck, arm, and chest - or do they go all the way down his body? I would happily lick, kiss and suck my way down while mapping his flesh beneath my lips. Oooh, I wonder if he’s ticklish.” 

Zoro’s gaze was now fully fixed on your lips, relaying every word of your hushed conversation lowly to Nami standing beside him. She began holding in her own laughter, choking back stifled whimpers while hearing the repetition of your vulgarity from the first-mate beside her. Nami was also a crewmate you enjoyed spending time with when the Nakama meetings drew the Straw-Hats and Heart-Pirate crews together, appreciating how effortlessly you relayed your desires and flirtations to your crewmen. 

“And his face paint. Does it smear when it's coated in sweat and saliva? His face looks like a comfortable place to sit,” you raked your eyes over his face, focussing on his grimacing lips, “He looks like he’d be an aggressive kisser. I wonder if he bites when he eats pu-.”

That was the comment that broke the seal, the three companions by your side finally breaking into an uproar of laughter. The three crews and their captains snapped their attention over to you. You held a look of absolute innocence, your eyes finally meeting with the intimidating presence of the feral, redheaded captain. 

His intense rage directed at you had you swooning, your knees buckling and your breath sighing at him. Heat flushed your cheeks the longer your eyes were locked with his. The flutter of your heartbeat and deep sigh departing from your lips perplexed him, depicted by the rage-riddled confusion knitting his brows together deeper.

Without warning with a few quick strides, your captain strutted over to your position among your crewmates.

“Tinkerer,” he spat, your body doing little to hide your longing as you desperately attempted to look behind Trafalgar Law to return your gaze to the Nakama behind you, “I said don’t.” 

“Sorry, sir,” you apologized sincerely, snapping your eyes up to his intense gaze,and assuming a more formal position. Your hands were clasped behind your back, your chin elevated in the air and your expression hardened and practiced.

“I just-...” he growled, his eyes clamping shut tightly before reopening, “...It was a suggestion, Tink. Not an order.” He straightened his posture, swirling his neck to relieve it of tension, “At ease, but keep it quiet. Alright?”

“In that case, Cap,” you smiled, relaxing in your stature and beaming a brilliant smile up at him with a shrug, “I am going to test out how loud I can make him roar my name while he fills me full of his hot, sticky cu-.”

“-TINK!” Law scolded you with an exasperated growl, the remainder of the Heart-Pirates bursting into a large, unbridled gaggle of laughter. 

Far enough away to not hear the conversation Law was holding with you, Zoro’s smirk cut his face wider at Law’s roar. A low, rumbled chuckle shook Zoro’s shoulders, alerting Luffy and Eustass Kid of his amusement. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Kid’s voice cracked through the air, causing Zoro’s chuckle to halt but his amusement remained. 

“Go ask Cap’n Law’s crew,” Zoro suggested nonchalantly with a shrug. Luffy quirked his head to the side, his wide eyes holding mild curiosity. Nami clapped her hands over her lips and shook her head, while Robin’s knowing smile drew itself up to decorate her face with her humor. 

“Why would I do that?” Kid growled, turning his intense auburn eyes back to the scene befaling Law and his crew. Law turned back to the two captains, a rise of a pink hue dusting his cheeks as he fixed his hat atop his head. 

Behind the tattooed captain, you stood with your brow raised and following your captain’s retreat. He examined you briefly, noting you were holding a hushed conversation with your crewmates behind your captain’s back that had a blush rise to their cheeks, lips curling up into broad smiles, and shoulders quaking in laughter. You were confident, that much was sure. 

As Kid met his eyes with yours, he saw your cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes glancing at him with a beckoning taunt. He watched as you shamelessly raked your eyes over his body, pausing on a few key areas and your lips moving with a smile as you spoke. 

Kid immediately rose to your challenge, striding immediately over with haste and brushing his shoulder heavily past Law’s - who was too late to halt the meeting of an impossible force colliding with an immovable object. Law held out his arm in warning, an action falling short as the hulking figure covered your body in the shroud of his shadow. His presence sucked the very breath from your body, his intense, piercing gaze burned you as you gazed into them. Lips curling back into a snarl, he scrunched his nose alongside his brows. 

“The fuck are you all laughing at?” He roared, his hard gaze stealing the air from within your lungs. He was even more spectacular at his closer proximity, holding you briefly starstruck under his dangerous aura. 

“Aww, nothing to say? Something clamping down on your tongue to keep it from moving?” he grimaced his lips up into a cruel snarl. At his taunt, your brief awestruck expression was replaced with a channel for your vulgarity.

“Why, are you offering?” You bite back, your eyes dark with their challenge, “I bet you have an array of things you could use to keep my tongue occupied.” His eyes widened, his grimace falling a little at your words.

“Come again?” He asked, hunching over to draw his face close to yours. He bore his teeth at you, his shock written all over his face. 

“I hope so, Sir,” you smile dreamily up at him, “As many times as you can handle it.” 

Your crewmen beside you sucked in whimpered breaths, hoping and praying the larger man at least found humor in your comments if not anything else. You continued to hold your half-lidded eyes, glazed over with unwithheld lust and need meeting with his wide eyes, pupils shrunk small and expression angry.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he spat, his brows creasing in the middle of his forehead as his scowl returned, “I should gag, choke and flog you for that.”

“And I would say ‘thank you’, Sir,” you hummed in affirmation, stepping your body closer to his towering form. Reactionary, he stepped further towards you, completely ignoring your crewmates beside you witnessing your interaction. You could feel the waves of tension elevating and igniting fury beneath his hulking form. 

“If this is your way of pissing me off,” he snarled, the rumble of his voice echoing within his chest shot a delightful shiver to your spine, “Believe me, it’s fuckin’ working, Sunshine.” 

Your heart swelled at his bestowment of such a sweet title onto you, your comrades in arms staring at you in horror as you swooned. Shachi and Penguin were rapidly shaking their heads from side to side in an attempt to warn you to cease your shameless advance of the foreign captain. Ikkaku stifled a smaller gasped whimper, while Bepo covered his ears. 

“So violent,” your voice shuddered in delight with an airy breathiness, “Don’t threaten me with a good time unless you intend on seeing it through, Sir.” 

Eustass Kid was stunned.

He had not received such provocative and forthcoming flirtation in this way before, and he truly had no idea if your crude words were just a depiction of your humor to entertain yourself, or if you truly meant what you were saying. If your expressions were just an act to draw a laugh from your crewmen, he no longer wanted to take part in engaging with you in this way. However, if you were truly interested in him - your shameless and tasteless salaciousness was indeed igniting something within the tinkerer-captain.

“You don’t even know who I am, Sunshine,” he informed you, drawing up his mechanical left hand and threatening to cage your neck within its cool, steely grip.

“Then educate me on the name I’ll be blissfully crying praises for, Sir,” you groaned, leaning your neck against the index finger of the mechanical contraption. 

“You got a lot of nerve to be talking shit about me in front everyone,” he pressed the heel of his metallic palm further into your flesh and curled the digits around your throat, “I’m not a fan of being the butt of some fucked up joke.”

“They’re not laughing at you, Sir. It’s ridicule at my expense,” you confessed, groaning at the feeling of cool metal pressing dangerously hard against your jugular, “They’re laughing at how much I want you, which I do. I really do, if you’re up to the task.” 

Kid’s breath was now taking its turn in being stolen from his lungs, your confession weighing as heavy on his heart as his mechanical arm was on his shoulder. He took a moment to process the words falling freely from your lips before he calculated an appropriate response. 

“The fuck did you just say-...?” Kid asked you quietly, his arm faltering its grip around your neck while his balled fist clenched tighter to stifle his rising anger. 

“You heard me,” you taunted him further, not tearing your eyes from his for even a moment. Your smile never faltered, your eyes displaying their unbridled lust and craving for him within your blackened pupils, “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that needs to be told twice.” 

“And what kind of guy do I look like to you?” he spat at you, wringing your neck between his steel fingers.

“A big one,” you gasped a whimpering moan, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt every movement offered by the mechanical contraption. You would adore taking the time to study such a beautiful object in your workshop, but for now; your curiosity was satisfied by the feeling of the hulking larger man caging you beneath its cool grasp.

“You want me to show you how big I really am, Sunshine?” his face split into a broad grin, his brow creasing in the center to deepen his sinister expression, “At least you already know how to call me ‘Sir’.” 

Before you could utter another word, Law pulled the captain’s attention away from you with a grasp of his hand on his right forearm. Before he could squeeze his metal fingers around your neck further, he drew them away from your flesh as Captain Law interrupted your building tension.

“Captain Kid,” his stern voice cut through the air, the redhead’s eyes snapped over to meet with the yellow irises of your captain, “I apologize for my tinkerer’s obscenity. They know better,” he shot you a pointed look, one you returned with a stubborn huff of breath. “Tink, I warned you. You’re dismissed. Workshop, now.” 

“Aye-aye, Captain,” you spat, your heels clicking together as you saluted him with your index and middle finger. You marched yourself below decks, mentally scolding yourself on your shamelessness in front of someone who was finally your type. 

As the door closed behind you, Law released a breath he didn’t know he was withholding. As he opened his mouth to speak, Kid spoke over him.

“Did you say tinkerer, Traffy?” his eyes were still fixed on the door you just exited through, his voice almost soft in curiosity.

“That I did,” Law confessed with a huffed breath, “Let’s get back to our meeting so we can get this bullshit over with, yeah?” 

“Yeah…” Kid exhaled, turning back to meet his gaze with Luffy and his own crew. He spared one more glance over his shoulder towards the lower deck door of the Polar Tang. Curiosity had you plaguing his thoughts, swirling within every crevice of his mind as he attempted to engage in the fruitless Nakama meeting with the Heart, Kid and Straw-Hat pirate captains. 

Pausing just before joining up with Luffy, Kid turned once more to Law and grunted out a small cough. Law lazily turned his face over to him, angling his chin upwards to stare at the larger man. Kid’s cheeks dusted with a small tint of pink, elevating his right hand and pressing it against his lips while grunting through his next choice words. 

“They single?”

Law groaned, throwing his head back as he and Kid rejoined themselves next to Luffy to discuss the next aspect of their meeting: no words finding anchor within the Straw-Hat captain’s mind, as he was too busy contemplating when the next meal was to be presented. Will Sanji cook it? Will Kid’s crew, or Law’s provide it? Will it include meat? He hoped it would.

Part 2

[trans-axolotl]

"Just as 'most prisoners walk into prison because they know they will be dragged or beaten into prison if they do not walk,' we can say that most of the psychiatrically committed walk into hospitals because they know they will be restrained or dragged in if they don't walk. Often, this power has not required the psychiatrist to know the exact source of the ailment they treat nor exactly how their methods act upon the mind; what matters is that the machine is running. A whole system, a tightly interwoven mesh of relays and discourses is in place to transform the psychiatrist's judgment into effective action: a working theory and classificatory system to organize the clientele and separate them from other objects of care or punishment (taxonomy or nosology); institutional spaces (the asylum is historically the most pervasive, but also clinics, group homes, psychiatric wards, etc.); judicial codes defining the status of the mad (generally analogized to animals or children); prescribed roles for legal actors (police, judges, forensic experts); a chain of bureaucrats to sort out matters of insurance, finance, and property in cases of institutionalization or guardianship; and approved mechanisms or surveillance and reporting to translate individual complaints into the state's administrative codes. There are as many points of contact as there are spaces of encounter and discourses of legitimation in the social world. One or more of these elements can be revolutionized without fundamentally changing the connection between the parts. For example, at various points throughout its existence, as we've already seen, a theory of 'social causation' prevailed over a biological one without changing the matrix that defines modern psychiatry, and the same can be said for some of the legal alterations to the patient's status throughout the twentieth century.

There is no psychiatrist-patient encounter set apart from a broader circuit of relations: patient-apartment-work-family-cop-partner-school-neighbor-psychologist-state-guardian-probate-judge-psychiatrist-hospital. And to be clear: our biology itself is shared and leaks throughout this chain at every step. Our bodies are permeable, open, they leak, bleed, consume, excrete; our bodies flow out into a common world, and are open to outside influence, as the COVID-19 pandemic has made so excruciatingly clear. A patient of the Utica Asylum put it beautifully in The Opal in 1852: 'Like fermentation in the chemical world, [humanity's] atomic adhesions are in constant enlargement and in silent operation, seeking out relations, and forming relations of unsurpassed beauty and comfort, because in conformity with nature and adapted to its condition, means and end.' Attempts to neutralize this network by relegating every actor and space in the chain external to the domain of the psychiatrist onto the order of natural history ('we're just responding to the demands of the family...' or 'that's a matter for the police...I just deal with the patient once they arrive here') expose this posture as a naively religious one. In denial of the profane world and its complications extrinsic to the holy circuitry of neural or endocrine highways of the One in isolation, they declare a monastic fealty to an object of study over and above the matrix that makes its study possible or their conclusions efficacious in any real encounter...

...If psychiatry still takes refuge in the desert of scientism--speaking in tongues of prolix jargon--it's because a paradise of healing did materialize, but not as a Promethean forge of liberated humans, nor even as solemn resting place of broken souls, but sank so low as to appear as nothing more than a mundane prison. Burdened by the unbearable weight of their failure, the next generation abandoned their project and ran away to the labs, relinquishing responsibility for the armies of the living dead. At least they hung a sign at the door of the asylum on their way out. It read: 'abandon every hope, who enter here.'"

-Storming Bedlam: Madness, Utopia, and Revolt by Sasha Warren, pg 32-34

[tactical-jellyfish]

Injuries (drabble)

Warnings!: Injury described, canon-typical violence (you know, like war). Nightmare. Comfort. Off-screen kiss on the cheek. Swearing. [~2.2 k words]

Beneath your haunches, the ground is trembling with the force of the cracking bullets in the air, vibrations blasted through tainted oxygen so hard that they infect cracked concrete and really test your hearing protection.

The firefight is one of the nastiest you've seen yet. A concerning amount of the fire you hear is decidedly not cover fire, cracking off the (former) concrete pillar and it's collapsed sibling that are turning out to be nearly-perfect cover, even if there's more rebar and mesh than you would like.

Your comms are trying, poor things, but there's little to be done, and you know it when Gaz's voice cuts as he tries to relay orders to you. Or, hell, maybe they were orders, you couldn't hear shit through the static either way

Boot soles grit against sandy concrete as you try to bite out a return message. Position compromised, you try, but the words don't leave when you see what looks like a medium-sized stone tossed over your barrier.

"Fuck!"

You try to run, but the comm's wire (and with it, your hearing protection) is snagged, pulled out by a burr of rebar breaking through the pillar's surface, tangled hopelessly in the mesh.

There's no time, and still, you try.

Always assume that a grenade tossed at you has two seconds or less till it does its best to turn you into red mist.

You had forgot.

And still, the blast is never quite as small as you think.

There is no pain in the immediate seconds after, and you silently thank deaf ears in the heavens for adrenaline, until you spot a movement a few meters away, peeking out from a corner.

It's automatic. Your rifle bends to your wills, a machine that is operated by an equally robotic entity. One of blood and one of metal. The way real warfare has been for thousands of years.

A body hits the floor, but you don't hear it, you see red painting the forehead, leaking through a too-weak helmet. You hide behind the more upright of the pillars, before watching another assailant burst from the corner, shoulders shaking as they grab their dispatched colleague by the shoulders, shaking them helplessly as though to will life back into their body.

Once more, you take a shot, and there is no miss.

It's a somber thing, but there is no time to offer condolences or sympathies, not when the broken box of your comms finally figures something out and flashes a yellow pinprick for you.

Evacuate ASAFP. You May Or May Not Be Important Enough To Wait For.

A twinge hits your arm as you lower it, and a wet warmth floods the area, but there's little time for that now. Having a chunk of grenade in your arm is preferable to being dead, by far.

Running has always been good for you.

You've never liked to sit still, not at work. The movement is what prompts the blood in your veins to pump, your heart to follow with hummingbird-fast beats. The burn in your lungs, it's what makes you real.

But, at the same time, the ache in your arm has taken time to grow as it stains your uniform with a deep red, forcing a sharp pain up your nerves and into your brainstem with every thump of your boots against the cracking ground.

You switch your rifle to your non-dominant hand, but it does little once the high of adrenaline starts to fade, and your foot also starts screeching its protest, weakening with each forced stride, no matter how much you push forward.

The helicopter is already raring to take off, and you try to shout out to your team, but you can't hear yourself.

Your foot hits the floor one last time, and flash of agony is so intense that it forces what should be another cry from you, but once more, no noise hits your ears.

Knees buckle, fabric is scraped off with skin in tow, and your damaged body lays heavy on the ground.

Another boot appears in your peripheral, and you try to look up.

Just before the face comes into focus, a particularly nasty gush of blood leaves the wound in your arm, and takes your vision with it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The floor beneath you is inky black, and cold.

A boot thuds down right before your face, and Price's face comes into focus, bristly bearded and bristling with rage.

His voice booms from seemingly everywhere around you, like you've been plugged into a surround-sound system made in hell.

"Rookie, whot the hell were you thinking, going in like that? You knew your coffin'd be empty if you died, right?"

It's so loud your ears are already starting to ache, the noise piercing every fiber of your being and rocking your cells with the vibrations, tearing your muscles apart from the inside.

A sharp sting spreads through your foot, but your neck refuses to allow you to look as muscles lock up, and another face steals away your attention, even as the pressure mounts.

"Ah, Cap, they're green. Might well bury'em alive. Sae's the time, aye?"

Soap's face is different. Low-sitting eyebrows pinched down, but a wicked smile present on thin lips, practically reveling as the floor seems to swallow you whole.

You know the laughter you hear, but it brings no comfort when you see Gaz cackling next to the Scot.

God, he looks so pretty when he laughs, and it does nothing but twist the knife when you watch him lean against Soap, before looking down at you.

"It's alright, luv. Some people just... don't make the cut. Way of the world, innit?"

The comfort is false, you know it is, but your damaged heart takes it anyway, to somehow make believe that it's not your fault, that you had just aimed too high.

When Ghost appears, there's no more defense you can give yourself.

As usual, the only thing you can see is his eyes. Light brown like mud that's just about to crack, honeyed when the light hits just right.

He says nothing, but he turns away, and some part of you can't allow that, even as the room starts to pivot on some axis you can't see.

You try to reach forward, to plead, but your voice doesn't work, and your legs are stuck, sinking into the black with no foreseeable way out, rotating faster and faster, a bug spiraling down into the drain.

A grating, long BEEEEEEEEEP floods the space around you first, painfully high-pitched and absolutely unbearable because it seems to match exactly with the ringing flooding into your ears.

You're certain that there are a few specific parts of your body that ache, but in the haze of painkillers, it's a simple dullness.

That being, until hands are on your shoulders.

Price stands above you, brows pulled down in worry, lips tuned in a stiff frown, and he speaks.

"------! - ------- --- ---- ----! --- ---- –"

He pauses when he watches you fail to acknowledge what he's saying, staring up at him with a pinch in your brow, eyes calculating as always, but now trying to put together what he's saying.

"-- --. ---, ---- -------! ----'-- --- -----."

Price's head follows a movement you only catch the tail end of. A body leaves the door, walking quickly, but there's no squeak of boots on linoleum.

His hand is under your chin, then, gently guiding you to look back up at him, baby blue eyes full of sympathy, a fatherly sort of concern that looks oddly welcome on his weathered face.

Price is slow to move, making sure you watch as he gently takes the plastic cup from the crappy nightstand beside the stiff bed your body lays on, taking a mock sip himself before holding it out to you.

Something is wrong, but you reach out a lead-heavy arm anyway.

It doesn't work very well, but thankfully Price catches it before it can spill.

It's humiliating, sure, but you still sip when the plastic rim kisses your parched lips.

You don't look, but if you had, you would see John smiling, reassured, ever so slightly, that you'd be alright. Not quite the v-shape you had come to know, but close enough.

You smile back, in turn. Weakly, but you do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soap spends a good deal of time in your room, in the first few days.

It's like he refuses to let hospital food actually be eaten by you, with how he keeps on bringing over his leftovers and heating them up in the microwave down the hall for you.

The first time, it's soup. Then, a stew, a little thicker, with some bread, which is followed by a simple sandwich.

But that's not all. He's joking with you the whole time, smiling as you come back into being a person again.

Yet another day, and the door opens.

The trial hearing aid planted in your ear does little to muffle the ringing that has become characteristic since your injury, but when the hinges squeak, your tired head snaps over to the Scot in your doorway.

"Fuck. Simmer down some, hen o' mine. Don't stare at me like that. I got ye sumthin'."

Your curiosity is met with a chuckle, and a small, wrapped package being set into your lap. After a few seconds of stillness, he gently prods you to open it.

A book of sudoku, crossword, and other puzzles. "To pass the time," Johnny says fondly. "Gotta keep the brain sharp, I'm sure."

He's sat beside your bed, and for once, you dare to do something new. You reach for his shoulder with an arm, and pull him into yourself.

That's the first time you have the balls to hug someone you work with.

He hugs you back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The diagnosis is only half shocking.

To you, that is still much too shocking to be comfortable, but Gaz, by your side, is much more active than you, in the discussion.

"Nerve damage? To what, specifically?"

"They can recover, right?"

"Would you recommend surgery or physical therapy? Both?"

"What's the timeline before they can have a re-evaluation for service?"

John had insisted that someone went along with you, and the Lieutenant was out training with Soap. So, that left Gaz.

He's a very good patient advocate, really, and at some point, you start looking at him in his seat beside you instead of paying all your attention to the doctor.

The white light is the pure opposite of flattering, but he manages to look good because of course he does, he's Gaz.

Brown eyes suddenly snap over to you, and his lips turn down slightly in concern before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, jostling you just enough to call you back to reality.

"What? What's- is something wrong, Garrick?"

Your voice is a little rougher than usual, not properly pitched as per usual, but enough.

He sighs lightly, but starts to smile softly when he does.

"Your hearing aids are in, right luv?"

"Y- I- I think so?"

"Ringing or no ringing?"

"It's- mate, it's not supposed to go away for a few weeks, I don't think."

Your voice is a bit more practiced, that time. Better.

The doctor, across the desk, pauses in her scribbling on the notepad (you're sure they think they're writing something, but there is no way that those are words), and looks up at you.

"Dead right. I'm glad you're well-read on your condition."

Her voice rings out once, and in the quiet, an alarm rings.

"Shit. I am so sorry, we're running over and I need to get to my next appointment. I'll see the pair of you again in a week, alright?"

You nod, but Gaz, on your side, seems just a bit ticked by the ordeal, but he takes you with him, already whisking you off into the café to get you some actual food.

And hell, if you kiss him on the cheek when he drops you back off at your room for the night, that's alright. Your little secret.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I swear to God, I'm gonna fucking kill you, Lieutenant."

Your punches hit the bag repeatedly as your words bite from your lips, sweat-coated and annoyed.

"Not until you hit your previous times, sergeant."

Ghost, bastard he is, is training you again.

Sure, you're out of physical therapy now, and sure, you do want to train, but he's just such a bastard about it.

A particularly hard swing is where you focus that annoyance, and the bag very nearly comes back for your face.

He stops rocking on his heels, and the relative silence is soon broken.

"Good for the day."

He declares, and you look back up from the red, padded synthetic leather, brows furrowed.

"What?"

"You wanted to be done for the day, right? You're done."

You stand, confused and maybe a bit upset, hands still wrapped up tight.

"No, I want to earn being done for the day. I was annoyed with you. Those are different."

There is a shift of the fabric of the mask you see, indicative of some sort of real facial expression.

"You're going to do just fine, rook."

His voice is warmer, this time.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

okay, so i just saw the anon ask about impregnating alien!art. it made me giggle, but it also made me think about him getting you pregnant? is it possible with you two being of different species? would he be happy about it? would the baby be an half alien/half human crossbreed? i just need to see dad-to-be alien!art, basically... 😞

Maybe making a series about Alien dad Art I had to sit down and think about this, I want to make things a little angsty and say no it's not possible for you to get pregnant

yet

maybe he's able to find tablets from his home planet about crossbreeding. Your child would 100% be mixed between both of you, having some it's fathers powers even his peculiar birth marks and he's beyond ok with having one, he loves you so much that a mini you would make him so happy. He expanded his alien sim family on your computer his obsession translated into real life. Thing is he's a bit too immature to be a dad and you're not ready to me a mom :/

TW: Smut, suggestions of infertility:

-

You had relayed that you weren't ready to be a parent, you didn't even know if you wanted to be one and he respected it. He was itching to be a father when you were cooing at a baby on the bus back home from the grocery store, the little boy latched his hand onto your finger giggling as you made faces. It clicked for him that he wants to have a kid with you. Observing you care for something so small and innocent made his heart race.

So he asks to not use a condom whenever you fucked after then

"don't want to use one" he pouts, slipping the open packet out of your grasp.

"We have to be careful though.." you mumble raking your nails on his chest "you like it though-" he moans "when I finish inside you" he closes his eyes relishing the feeling of your fist milking his dick occasionally slipping the head of it between your folds.

"I know" your jaw slackens at the sensation circling your clit smearing his pre cum over your labia. "We don't know if I can get pregnant though and we were careless before.."

"fuck it" his whining making you relent giving into his breeding fetish. You gasp though his languid thrusts clenching around him tightly, movements becoming sloppy before he finishes inside you.

"wanna be a daddy hm?" You lock your legs around his hips keeping him in place "want me to be a mommy to our babies" you mumble between open mouthed kisses barely realizing he's shallowly bucking his hips, the over stimulation quietly toppling you over the edge.

His excitement dwindles down to  fear when you shove him off you and scramble towards the bathroom, he follows you watching in shock as you’re sitting on the toilet face contorted in pain as his release drips out of you 

“It stings” you tear up cupping a sob behind your hand, this can’t be fucking happening Art doesn’t know what to do. You never got hurt from his cum before it’s as if your body was rejecting him

The next few days were quiet and dreary. You felt bad for him watching him sulk the house with a rain cloud hovering over his head. His fantasy of a child dwindling into a dream, he let it go after a week as you both bounced back from the confusing ordeal, he secretly threw himself into research borrowing books from libraries, deep diving articles online. It’s fruitless since there’s no existence of hybrid humans on earth. He’s determined and gets frustrated whenever you mention adopting a kid selfishly wanting a piece of both of you meshed together.

-

if anyone has ideas for where this could go PLEASE send me a message pookies. Alien Art has to be a dad but idk how. Help a girl out.

[thegreatmatpi]

since i got into bandori i've been thinking a lot about the instruments that the girls use, especially the drummers, and one thing that always kinda felt off is that maya has an acoustic kit in canon but pasupare plays a bunch of songs with electronic drum sounds. and i don't know why it took me 5 years to consider the fact that she could have turned the acoustic kit into an electric one.

so most of the bandori drummers have very high end kits. notably ako and masuki, but saya's, tomoe's, tsukushi's, taki's, and nyamu's kits are all at the upper echelon of their respective brands. kanon and maya are the only two that have tama kits, which are already known for being among the more affordable brands, but their kits are the only ones that don't break the $1000 mark. for kanon this makes sense, kind of. she had bought the drum set just to try it out, and the imperialstar from tama is the perfect beginner kit. tama sells it as a complete set with cymbals, hardware, and accessories rather than just the drums. since kokoro stopped her from returning it, it makes sense that she played with hello happy world using that kit. now this also raises the question of why the tsurumaki family didn't upgrade it while they also bought kaoru that guitar, but my best guess is she got nicer cymbals and drumheads, as well as proper maintenance for that kit, because it still is a good sounding kit if you take care of it.

anyway getting back to maya's kit, it is a little strange how the biggest gearhead has a relatively cheap kit. it's nicer than kanon's for sure, but it's by no means one of their flagship kits or even one that's still on the market. and then it hit me. she actually turned her drum kit into an electric kit. first let's talk about how electric kits work. it's all a series of pads connected to a module that detects when a certain pad is hit and plays the correct sound either to your headphones or some other output like a speaker or recording interface. each pad has a trigger inside it that detects when the pad has been hit. and for a lot of higher end electronic kits that look like acoustic kits, like the higher end roland and alesis kits, these triggers are meant to mimic the response of an actual drum. you can also buy the triggers on their own, which leads me to believe that's how maya has her kit set up.

there are a few different kinds of triggers that you can use, but you can probably characterize them best by external and internal. external drum triggers you can just slap onto any drum and plug it into a module. it's a common practice especially with kick drums if you want to change the sound of the drums in the middle of a set without going through the motions of changing a drumhead or a pedal. you even see these in the bandori live performances: i know that ako's and masking's kit both use them, and that gives me enough reason to believe that the rest of the live bands do it too. but there's a limitation to this. these triggers can really only detect when the drum is hit and how hard it's been hit, leaving out the crucial detail of where the drum was hit. with kick drums, the pedal is hitting the exact same spot every time, so this isn't an issue. however, if you want to do this for your whole drum set, you need something else.

this is where those internal triggers come into play. instead of just putting these on a drum, you need to install these underneath the drum head, and they're meant for playing purely electronically, so you typically use a quiet mesh head rather than the typical mylar head. there are internal triggers that operate exactly like the external ones, but there are also fancier ones that instead of sensing the impacts from the edge of the drumhead, sense them from the middle of the head. this allows the sensor to also relay information regarding the location of the hit, which allows the module to modify the sound even further, giving a much more realistic feel.

anyway thank you for listening to me ramble on about bandori instruments for much longer than i had intended, and i would love to hear any instrument headcanons y'all have!!

[makoredeyes]

12 & 50. Rasputin/Felwinter

YES GOOD. Enjoy a nice painful snack of Warmind Angst.(TM) These are kind of interchangeable with both getting a little bit of both but here we have two prompts so I've done two fics. Pop the confetti 2nd one is another sort of between-the-scenes moment from Housefire - Syzygy this time.

12 - in grief

It took some time after the Cosmodrome had stopped shaking from the explosion for the dust to settle. The Lightbearers had really done some damage on their way down, and Rasputin had his work cut out for him to regain access to the Site Six bunker. The Warmind was aware, more or less, of what had transpired thanks to black box recorders and some feeble transmissions still trickling in from the few surviving nanites, but at first he was largely blind and almost entirely cut off from his own systems thanks to the damage. 

He'd known they wouldn't go down without a fight. He'd been prepared for war. He didn't have to like the results. 

Nasty, freakish dead things. 

They could stay dead. 

But he had to see. Had to be sure. He didn't have his Seraphs anymore, and frames were too bulky, and too slow to be thorough search parties.

He had -

He...

Visual data relays returned, and for all that Rasputin had seen and done, the images shocked him. The destruction was to be expected after an explosion so powerful, but what truly gave the Warmind pause was the SIVA.

Twisted, gnarled vines in waves and swathes of red coated everything, engulfing it, consuming it. His rage... his malice, given grotesque form, thrown right in his face.

It had seemed so much simpler, so much more benign from a distance. Lines of code didn't tell the same tale as bodies torn asunder, half-consumed, wracked in visible terror and agony. Unfeeling Zeroes and Ones made it far less poignant that these undead things were also men and women.

People.

Felwinter's friends.

His son.

Rasputin didn't find the body right away. He knew he was there, and even had a fairly accurate idea of where to search, and still Rasputin had nearly given up when he'd finally found something. A limb. The rest of him had been elsewhere. Not far away, no, but...not attached, either.

The red-mesh impulse that had been sweeping the vast room flickered in a long wave and then collapsed down to that singular place, pinprick points of light quivering as Rasputin examined what was left of his most beloved creation and arguably the best part of him. His child, his humanity- the Traveler had stolen him from Rasputin, but Rasputin had snuffed his flame.

Aurora synapse flared and shrank over and over as Rasputin mapped out dimensions he already knew as well as his own, ghosting over hands, chest, and face, electronic tears doing nothing for surging grief.

Oh how he'd failed. Oh, he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

More beats of light, flickering, filling the room, but no amount of anguished kisses from a mourning father could warm the cooling body of a murdered child.

This one he would have to live with.

----

50- out of love

Rasputin trod the Corridors of Time a little more slowly than was strictly necessary. The burden he carried in his arms did not trouble him. His race against the inevitable was over.

He could afford to steal a few minutes more. He didn't care if he was selfish.

Felwinter was alive. Alive. He was as well as he could be, and safe with him, even if he was hard-pressed to convince poor Felwinter of the fact.

Rasputin didn't blame his son for not trusting him, even if he was still struggling to process the pain of just how poorly he'd actually been received. Rasputin knew what he'd done, and the pain he caused. He realized, with no small sting, that this was likely the last time Felwinter would let him this close (and that 'let' was a dubious qualifier when Rasputin had rendered the Exo unconscious for both of their safety) if the shattered plating under his eye was any indication, and while Rasputin could accept the fate he'd created for himself, he wasn't about to miss an opportunity no matter how small, either.

And so he took advantage of what little time he had, no matter how pitifully one-sided it was, for despite all his wrong doings and all his bad choices, he loved his son, and these precious few minutes with him meant the world to Rasputin.

"Someday," he whispered, knowing Felwinter could not hear him and relieved that Felspring was busy chattering with Caerus somewhere trailing behind, "I will may be able to tell you in a way that will matter." But for now, even effectively alone, he still could not. He had to do better. He would. He tipped his chin down, nuzzling in to lay a slow kiss onto Felwinter's too-hot forehead, immediately feeling a sharp slap of guilt for stealing the touch, though he'd done so largely without realizing what he was doing until it was too late. What was one more drop in a sea of sins, Rasputin thought bitterly. He lifted his head and picked up his pace.

Love and remorse alone were not enough.

He would do better.

[losvoladores]

(This transmission was not born on the Omninet. It originates on its deeper twin, an Omni of a different shape, one tighter wound and more even. The Diplomatic Office, where the Interfacer stands, one of the few places where the two Omnis meet. By all accounts, a message like this should not be seen by unwanted eyes as it passes from the Mesh to its first Node. Unseen it should be handed along to its destination. And yet, as a desperate Machine-Mind in the Office struggles to suborn the Interfacers will, its routines suffer. This transmission is visible, for the blink of an eye, long enough to be understood but too short to ever be found again, by those in the wrong time at the right place. Those used to seeing things where there are or should be none. @neramontagofficial among them)

Transcription/Translation: >>>Time since High Ground:(7912.04 blinks) >>>Depth:(12 Fathoms) para:Ashem )O( ""We found what appears to be an Impostor. Mirror-shaped and armed." {At the Depths you are flying? You are sure?} "God as my witness." {Either it's adrift, or the Pasha is moving deeper into our domain. In any case, our kin in Blacksky must know. Relay your findings to them through the Nodes.} "It shall be done."" )O( Opalite Husk: "Mourning Cloak" - Bearer of Blades - Carver of Shapes - Veiled in Light

[tmwcs]

can you do a scenario where readen sneaks out and takes her and heethans baby and moves somewhere far far away with the money she's been saving up but heethan still finds her?

thanks alot <33333

"Where Will You Go?"

Warnings: runaway, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, human rights violation, abuse of authority in a relationship, traditional yandere type sh*t. insane love, dom!heethan and sub! readen vibes.

So.....if you haven't already, i would go and take a look at the canon smaus in each arc of the series, because otherwise you might not get the signature trademark quote of heethan. lol.

"Shhh...it’s okay baby...mama is here." cradling your baby boy, rocking him in your arms as you attempt to feed him, you hush his cries and sing a soft lullaby. Gazing out the window, you watch the scenic blur of the wide landscape, the foliage meshing with the blue sky as the train continues to travel at such a high speed. You look down and admire your baby boy, just only shy of 6 months old, too young to travel but you had to take the opportunity when you saw it, and use it to escape.

you hoped he’d understand, after all, you truly did love him….but his manners scared you. He loved you entirely too much, and intensely, it was all beginning to suffocate you, especially after what happened over 15 months ago, when you found out that you were pregnant with your boy, yet it was odd to you. You we’re religiously taking your birth control, never skipping a single day, yet right after you discovered your pills had all be replaced by sugar pills of the same size and color, you knew what he had done. He never hid the fact that he wanted a child with you, in fact, it was the way he knew he could keep you grounded forever, not to mention that any children coming from the both of you was considered a result of his devoted love for you. Whether you were ready or not, he didn’t care, his love for you was so great that he sabotaged your education, career, and your future, all by enforcing you into the stages of motherhood so early on.

he was wrong, yes. But things like that made him so powerful, desirable, and worthy of your affection, which is why you had to go. You had to leave, it was for your own good. It didn’t matter if you enjoyed him…..if you loved him….that hardly meant he was good for you. This was the better choice, all to save yourself and raising your child in peace.

you arranged with a long time friend from high school to stay with her, she was dear and loving, and opened up her home to you. She mentioned she would be gone on vacation by the time you arrived, but that she would leave the keys hidden and notify you of the location later.

after a long ride, you finally arrive at your destination. Your child rests, asleep in your arms and cradling your bosom with his small hand. Getting a taxi, you gave the address of the house and was dropped off just shy of 20 minutes away from the station.

your friend texts you and relays the secret location of the house keys. Once you had retrieved them, you let yourself in, all the while carrying your sleeping child. Turning on the lights, you settle in and take your baby upstairs, tucking him in the spare guest room that you’ll both be sleeping in. Nestling him under the blanket, you head back down and begin searching for rentals nearby. You avoided in informing your parents of your sudden move, not wanting to go public with the news until you were able to firmly station yourself, and your son. No doubt they’ll have many question as to why you chose to move without the father of your child, your fiancé, the one whom you were in love with, but deathly afraid of.

Skimming through numerous webpages, you grew tired after saving the top properties of your choice. You tiresomely sigh out as you checked and noticed how late it was. Closing your laptop screen, you sign off and shut off all the lights downstairs, saving the kitchen for last. Getting a glass of water, you nearly gulped the entire glass when something caught your eye from the side, under the shadows of the dining room. Frowning a confused look, you set the glass down on the counter and walked over to the table. Flipping on the lights to the hanging chandelier, you gasped out in horror as you recognized the black cap that was stationed near the edge, along with a pair of unfamiliar keys to what you assumed, was a rental.

"I-it......it cant be....."

Just then, you suddenly thought of your baby napping upstairs. Running up the stairs, you call out your son's name as you swing the door wide open, and turn on the lights. To your relief, he was still in bed, deeply asleep. You walked over, looking around cautiously, even checking the private bathroom and cleared out the closet; no one was in sight. Pulling the blanket up and tucking in your baby, you softly kiss his head before exiting the room. Immediately going through the halls, you scurried through each room to clear out the surroundings. You knew he was here, lurking around, there was no doubt about it. Yet every area you checked was clear, there was no one in sight, not to mention the security system in the house had been activated the moment you arrived. He couldn't have broken or snuck in without setting it off. So then how?.....

With a stale heartbeat, you called up your friend.

"Hello? Y/N? Is everything alright?"

"uh yeah, i was just wondering...if you had access to all your camera systems stationed outside.....would you be able to check them? I thought i saw something...."

"yeah, gimme a sec."

After a few moments, she chimes back in and tells you that all was clear and that the cameras didn't display any signs of an intruder.

"Probably a wild animal roaming around."

"yeah....probably." You respond back, not entirely reassured.

"Get some rest, if anything happens, just call the police. Make sure that your bedroom door is locked."

Nodding, you ended the call and set your phone down. Glancing over to the side once more, you set your sights on the dining table, noting that the hat and keys were still there.

"Heeseung...I know you're here.....come out." you softly call out as you tapped your fingers on the counter top. Rather than being scared and fretting at the thought in running into him, you figured you would brave up and call out to him. Perhaps you can even appeal to his loving sense and talk things over. Yet, no matter how softly you called out to him, the entire house was quiet, and he was nowhere to be found. Other than yourself, and your son, the house was empty. Did he leave? Figuring it was best to call him, you unblocked his phone number as you took another sip out of your glass. The phone rings and you wait for him to answer....but then you heard something. It was faint, yet you recognized the sound. Following the noise, you got closer to the ringtone, it was his ringtone. Trailing through the hallway, you heard it coming from inside the closet. Opening it, all that was displayed were a line of coats and jackets neatly hanged up; sifting through each hanger, you pause upon seeing a black tanker jacket that you recognized. Inside the pocket, was his phone, still ringing as you had him on call. Hanging up, you unlocked his screen and saw an unread text message. Opening it, your eyes slowly widened as you read off the text....

Your breath frozen and you felt your heart drop. Shaking in fear, you slowly turned around, inch by inch, but before you could make a full turn, a shroud of darkness took over your sights as you experienced sudden tunnel vision. Your body goes limp and your weight becomes dense; falling, you felt a strong pair of hands catching you, breaking the fall. Your vision grew blurry, and though it was faint, you could hear his calm voice whispering into your ear as he pets the back of your head, embracing you in his arms.

"Shhh.....shh-sh-sh. Go to sleep babydoll, daddy is here to bring you and baby boy back home." With the feel of his breath grazing over your neck and cheek, you gasped out your words, finding it hard to even speak as you fought against the effects of whatever it was he put in the glass of water you left on the counter top. How careless of you.

"H-Heeseung...?"

With a dark tone to his voice, he grits his teeth into a smirk and responds, right before you black out.

"Wrong name, baby."

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️  ☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

[shepchasingtail]

🔒 PANDORA – GLUTTONY DIVISION DOSSIER

SUBJECT: SKELTON, ISRAEL JANNICK Call Sign: Shepherd Clearance Level: ██/███ (Tier-9 Gluttony Access Only) Dossier ID: PND-GLUTTONY/Δ-HXN19-553

BIOLOGICAL OVERVIEW

Field Entry:

Full Name: Israel Jannick Skelton Date of Birth: 14 February 1993

Height:

6’2”

Weight:

172 lbs Place of Birth: Copenhagen, Denmark Nationality Dual – Danish / Classified (Naturalized ██████)

Species: Human/Shifter (Canine Variant: Belgian Malinois) Shifter Onset ██/██/20██ (Classified Biogenic Incident – Operation REBIRTH) Affiliation: Pandora Initiative – Gluttony Division Former Affiliation NATO Tactical Recon / K9 Division (BLACKLIST OPS: DEN-56) Status:

Active / Monitored

INTERNAL EVALUATION REPORT

SECTION I: SHEPHERD ABILITY OVERVIEW

Classification: Tier-III Controlled Morphotype (Caniform Subtype) Baseline Genome: Homo sapiens (genetically modified) Overlay Morphotype: Canis lupus familiaris (Shepherd-class phenotype)

A. Morphological Capabilities

Voluntary Shifting: Subject is capable of initiating full or partial transformation at will.

Partial Shifts: Include selective enhancement of olfactory organs, musculoskeletal extensions (e.g., digitigrade posture), and dermal layer modulation.

Full Shift: Yields complete quadrupedal canine form with high locomotion efficiency, camouflage benefit, and enhanced field mobility.

B. Structural Integrity & Recovery

Accelerated Tissue Regeneration: Healing factor calibrated to 4.7× human baseline; bone fractures re-knit in <24 hrs under monitored stasis.

Immune Compensation: Near-total resistance to conventional pathogens and most field-grade toxins.

Blood Reoxygenation Efficiency: Elevated hemoglobin turnover rate for extended physical exertion without hypoxia.

SECTION II: SENSORIAL AND PHYSICAL ENHANCEMENTS

A. Sensory Expansion

Olfactory Resolution: 40× human range. Capable of isolating individual scent trails from mixed source environments (urban, battlefield, subterranean).

Auditory Range: Detects ultrasonic emissions up to ~62 kHz. Has been used to triangulate active listening devices and microdrones.

Night Vision Equivalent: Tapetum lucidum layer in canine form provides low-light visual acuity rivaling next-gen thermal optics.

B. Physical Conditioning

Enhanced Strength: Estimated peak output at 3.2× human maximum. Documented ability to breach reinforced doors, carry 200+ kg under duress.

Agility & Speed: Max quadrupedal velocity recorded at 58 km/h (full sprint).

Climatic Adaptation: Fur density modulation in canine form provides heat insulation in low-temp environments.

SECTION III: COGNITIVE PROFILE & BEHAVIORAL PERFORMANCE

A. Tactical Intelligence

Maintains operational cognition during transformation. No evidence of regression to feral behavior unless provoked by trauma triggers (see Incident #091).

Proficient in abstract planning, real-time threat analysis, and independent vector rerouting under compromised comms.

B. Emotional Regulation

Suppressed affect during operations. Exhibits high detachment, particularly in canine state.

Displays intuitive reading of emotional cues from both human and animal subjects. Empathic mimicry appears tactical rather than authentic.

C. Canine Subject Interaction

Capable of issuing non-verbal commands to domestic dogs and ferals. Effective in disrupting or redirecting threats posed by trained K9 units.

Behavioral reinforcement strategies suggest intuitive understanding of canine dominance hierarchies.

SECTION IV: TECHNICAL EQUIPMENT INTERFACE

Device: VOX-HALO UNIT 7 (Speech Relay Collar)

Purpose: Enables Shepherd to communicate in canine form via neural impulse-to-speech synthesis.

Construction: Titanium-carbide housing; layered biometric mesh; embedded Q-band encryption node.

Functionality: Interprets subvocal electrical signals and brainwave patterns to articulate human-equivalent language output.

Limitations:

Latency (~250–300 ms) under stress conditions Signal disruption in EM-dense zonesRequires re-sync post-shift for phoneme calibration

SECTION V: OPERATIONAL SPECIALIZATIONS

Bio-Tracking & Residue Analysis (real-time genetic target ID through scent/vocal trace matching)

Counter-Persona Interrogation Resistance (fragmented memory encoding prevents strategic leaks if captured)

Behavioral Manipulation (direct influence over canine populations; contextual manipulation of human behavioral cues)

Tactical Foresight & Pattern Anticipation (predictive modeling in unpredictable terrain)

Environmental Navigation & Substructure Mapping (notably high spatial memory in complex architecture)

Long-Term Surveillance in Hostile Terrain (maintains passive reconnaissance in feral state undetected)

Pack-based Engagement Strategies (demonstrates ability to coordinate with autonomous or semi-autonomous canine assets)

SECTION VI: LIMITATIONS AND RISK FACTORS

Shift Instability Under Neurological Stress: Intense psychological or physical duress can cause involuntary shifting or memory fragmentation.

Feral Lock States: Extended time in canine form can lead to suppressed human identity markers; subject may become unresponsive to recall protocols.

Verbal Delay in Shifted Form: Despite the VOX-HALO collar, speech output remains delayed and prone to error in rapid-communication scenarios.

Hostile Conditioning Thresholds: Displays lower resistance to certain ultrasonic frequencies used in anti-animal deterrents.

Emotional Dysregulation Triggers: Strong emotional stimuli related to past trauma (see Incident #030) can disrupt task focus and cause aggression or withdrawal.

Operational Limitation Post-Morphogenic Exposure Risk Evaluation Summary: Shepherd undergoes full cellular deconstruction and reformation during morphogenic transitions between human and caniform states. Upon reversion to human form, all integrated clothing, tactical equipment, and external gear are nullified by the biological transmutation process. The subject re-emerges nude, without protective coverage or field-ready attire.

Operational Risks Identified:

Environmental Exposure: Susceptibility to hypothermia, chemical agents, or abrasions in uncontrolled terrain.

Tactical Vulnerability: Immediate post-shift incapacity to engage, defend, or retreat due to lack of armor or armament.

Unit Disruption: Potential for distraction, morale disruption, or psychological discomfort among human personnel.

Public Exposure Risk: In civilian-adjacent operations, post-shift emergence could compromise mission secrecy and provoke incident escalation.

Discretion Protocol: Visual engagement of Shepherd during reversion is to be limited. Non-essential visual contact is to be restricted.

Additional Notes: The issue remains physiological and currently unresolvable via augmentation without compromising morphogenic fluidity. A prosthetic gear-retention solution is under review but deemed non-viable in rapid-shift scenarios as of the latest R&D cycle.

SECTION VII: INCIDENT LOG EXCERPTS

Incident #030 – Exposure to Stimulus ("Whistle Echo Variant") Date: 14 Jan 2023 Outcome: Temporary feral lock lasting 5h17m. Operative displayed territorial aggression. No operatives injured. Induced via unknown high-frequency pattern in proximity mine.

Incident #091 – Tactical Disengagement (Morocco Urban Cleft) Date: 26 Sep 2024 Outcome: Subject entered canine form mid-assault and failed to re-establish identity for 3.4 hours. Autonomous escape and later regrouping suggest partial operational memory retention. Collar data lost in transit.

Incident #117 – Forced Capture Test Date: 09 Feb 2025 Outcome: Subject resisted physical interrogation for 72 hours. Under simulated neural interrogation, subject's memory nodes shifted erratically, preventing clean data extraction.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE [CONFIDENTIAL – REDACTED]

Diagnosed with Controlled Identity Dissociation due to dual consciousness bleed Behavioral Overlay: Canine Imprinting ResidualsCompulsion: Cataloging animal trauma in encrypted field logs Displays signs of interspecies empathy inversion: higher emotional response to canines than humans Regular debriefings required post-shift to confirm cognitive cohesion Trust rating: Satisfactory (fluctuating) Loyalty tier: ██ (Observed Deviations) Note: Obedience - Absolute.

Watchlist Tag: "If he breaks, do not attempt containment. End him."

Behavioral Note (per Division Psych Lead): “If Shepherd is lost to his canine identity mid-field, he becomes invisible—but also irretrievable. We don’t track him when he's in that state. We observe. From afar.”

CLASSIFIED — AUTHORIZED MEDICAL PERSONNEL ONLY

Subject: Medical and Enhancement History Report Operative Call Sign: Shepherd Date: May 20, 2025 Prepared by: Division Medical and Biotechnical Services

Incident Date: 2022-04-15 Injury: Shrapnel wounds to left forelimb and minor lung puncture Outcome: Immediate field stabilization, followed by surgical removal of shrapnel fragments and lung repair at forward operating base hospital. Six weeks recovery with physical therapy. Enhancements/Surgery: Introduction of subdermal armor plating in left forelimb to prevent similar injuries; enhanced respiratory efficiency implant to improve oxygen intake post-injury.

Incident Date: 2023-01-10 Injury: Compound fracture of right hind leg due to blast exposure Outcome: Emergency orthopedic surgery including insertion of titanium rod and joint reconstruction. Extended rehabilitation including advanced kinetic therapy. Enhancements/Surgery: Cybernetic tendon reinforcement installed post-healing to improve joint strength and durability; pain receptor modulation implant for increased pain tolerance.

Incident Date: 2023-07-22 Injury: Severe lacerations and nerve damage from close combat engagement Outcome: Microsurgical nerve repair and skin grafts conducted; partial sensory loss initially observed with gradual return over three months. Enhancements/Surgery: Neural interface upgrade for enhanced reflexes and motor control; dermal regeneration accelerator installed to speed up healing in future injuries.

Incident Date: 2024-03-05 Injury: Traumatic brain injury (TBI) caused by explosion shockwave Outcome: Intensive neurorehabilitation, including cognitive and motor skill therapies; implanted neural stabilizer to reduce inflammation and enhance brain plasticity. Enhancements/Surgery: Neural enhancement implant to improve situational awareness and reaction times; protective cranial plating surgically added to prevent future injuries.

Incident Date: 2024-11-17 Injury: Severe torso bruising and multiple rib fractures from vehicle rollover. Outcome: Surgical realignment of ribs, internal stabilization with biocompatible materials, and extended recovery with respiratory therapy. Enhancements/Surgery: Enhanced muscular reinforcement in torso area to absorb shock better; advanced pain modulation system installed to maintain operational capacity under duress.

SPECIALIZATIONS

Shifter Reconnaissance – Stealth Tier III (Caniform)

Bio-Tracking and Genetic Residue Analysis

Behavioral Manipulation (Canine and Human Subjects)

Canine-Based Infiltration Techniques (Enhanced Scent Masking, Terrain-Adaptive Stealth)

Counter-Persona Interrogation Resistance

Advanced Tactical Evasion and Pursuit

Environmental Adaptation and Survival (Urban and Wilderness)

Canine-Enhanced Sensory Surveillance (Olfactory and Auditory Amplification)

K9-Assisted Target Acquisition and Identification

Rapid Response and Extraction Operations

Tactical Communication and Nonverbal Signaling

Close Quarters Threat Neutralization

Combat-Integrated Tracking and Flanking Maneuvers

Low-Visibility Movement and Silent Navigation

Enhanced Pain Tolerance and Injury Recovery

Psychosensory Signal Disruption (Canine Howl Emulation for Area Confusion)

Counter-Surveillance and Detection Evasion

Multi-Terrain Mobility and Climbing Proficiency

Operational Camouflage Adaptation (Fur Pattern Shifting and Texture Modulation)

LIMITATIONS

Canine Phenotypic Shift Cognitive Decline: Upon full transformation into canine morphology, higher-order executive functions and complex tactical reasoning are significantly impaired, resulting in reliance on instinctual behaviors that may hinder mission-specific objectives.

Verbal Communication Restriction: In canine form, expressive communication is limited to nonverbal signaling and basic command comprehension, thereby reducing effective real-time coordination with human operatives. To mitigate this, a custom-engineered neural-linked collar—designated Vox-Halo Unit 7—has been implemented.

Sensory Modality Vulnerability: Exposure to extreme environmental factors such as hyperthermia or toxic chemical agents attenuates olfactory and other heightened sensory functions, diminishing tracking and detection capacity.

Physical Trauma Susceptibility: Despite augmented regenerative and endurance capabilities, Shepherd remains vulnerable to high-impact ballistic trauma and sustained blunt force injuries, which transiently impair operational effectiveness.

Engagement Range Limitation: Combat proficiency is primarily restricted to close-quarters; proficiency with ranged weaponry is suboptimal, necessitating support elements for medium to long-range threat neutralization.

Cognitive-Identity Disassociation: Prolonged duration in canine form or repeated canine-hominid identity shifts may precipitate episodes of cognitive disorientation or temporary loss of self-awareness, compromising operational reliability.

Cybernetic Maintenance Dependency: Enhanced physical and sensory augmentations require scheduled recalibration and maintenance; operational degradation occurs in the absence of routine servicing or if systems are compromised.

Infiltration Countermeasure Sensitivity: Although adept in unconventional infiltration, Shepherd’s biological and sensory enhancements are susceptible to detection by advanced biometric and bio-signature surveillance technologies.

Manual Dexterity Deficiency: The canine anatomical form imposes significant limitations on fine motor skills, restricting capability for complex tool manipulation, technical sabotage, or field repairs.

Psychological Stress Response: Exposure to high-stress combat environments or trauma-associated stimuli can induce atypical behavioral responses, including heightened aggression or withdrawal, necessitating ongoing psychological evaluation and support.

SKILLS

Proficient

Close Combat Mastery

Acrobatics & Evasion

Perception

Battlefield Endurance

Stealth & Infiltration

Expertise:

Pain Tolerance

Substandard:

Seduction

Cryptograms & Codebreaking

KNOWN ANOMALIES

Subject retains partial "residual scent memory" across forms.

Exhibits involuntary memory recall of K9 partner deceased during Operation ███████.

Regular unauthorized logging of animal casualties.

🗂️ MISSION LOGS – CLASSIFIED SLTH OPS

MISSION: MOTHER TONGUE Location: Novosibirsk Oblast, Russian Federation Date: ██/██/20██ Objective: Infiltrate abandoned research site formerly operated under Soviet Directive Красный Глотка ("Red Throat"). Extract cognitive imprint data from canine-based neural wetware prototypes. Operative Assigned: Agent SHEPHERD (solo, Sloth insertion) Status: ✅ OBJECTIVE RECOVERED – SITE COMPROMISED Casualties: 3 (hostiles), 12 (canine test subjects) Post-Op Psychological Score: Borderline-Flagged (Tier 2 Dissociation Signs Present)

Extracted Log [REDACTED]:

“Site was frozen beneath six meters of ice and silence. It didn’t feel abandoned. The dogs were still there—wired, suspended. No sedation. Some were still blinking. They kept looking toward the corner of the room… as if something was there. I didn't see it. But I heard it. A sound like breathing through water.”

“Data was stored in bone. Implanted microchips behind the orbital ridge—wetware designed to carry imprint memories. They weren’t studying obedience. They were recording language. The dogs were speaking… but not with mouths. With static.”

“I euthanized the subjects. Quick. Clean. I kept one piece. Just one skull. It still hums when I touch it.”

RED FLAG: Agent extracted unauthorized relic (biological remains) against directive. Post-Mission Directive: Agent under Tier-1 Cognitive Watch for residual imprint bleed. Subject claims no memory of return flight or initial post-op debrief.

Internal Note [Director ███████]:

“We told him to extract code. He brought back ghosts.”

MISSION: GLASS PRAYER

Location: Haifa, Israel Date: ██/██/20██ Objective: Embedded as stray for 6 days inside biotech security compound. Recover prototype genetic stabilizer. Status: ✅ RECOVERED Anomalies: Subject remained in canine form for 142 consecutive hours. No reversion recorded.

Extracted Log [REDACTED]:

“…man in the courtyard fed me each morning. Called me 'Kelev.' Didn’t know I understood. He talked about his daughter. Told me secrets. Where the vault was. What he’d buried. Day six, I took the drive from his pocket. He cried when I ran. I didn’t look back. The leash tightens when they trust you.”

MISSION: REBIRTH

Location: [REDACTED] Date: ██/██/20██ Objective: ████████ Status: ██ Notes: Operation during which subject’s shifter state first manifested. Incident classified under Pandora Directive X/13. Only surviving operative. No visual data recovered. All environmental surveillance “glitched.”

Post-Op Incident Report:

“…I was watching Juno die and I wasn’t in my body. I felt the hair before I saw it. I heard something scream inside my head—my voice, but not. I shifted for the first time. And I didn’t come back for three days.”

Outcome: Full biogenic transition. Induction into Pandora Gluttony Division.

🔒 ADDITIONAL FILES (ACCESS RESTRICTED TO OMEGA-LEVEL):

[ ] DOG 19 Incident File – Content Locked[ ] JUNO Termination Record – Redacted by Order 5C[ ] Directive A-Null: “Fail-safes for Subject Shepherd”

🔻 END OF FILE

“He is what happens when loyalty breaks and reforms with teeth.” – Pandora Internal Memo

[mafiadebt-plays-along]

Reporting, from Europa

Sir! We've pushed them to the northern end of this part of the tunnels, sir! As you suggested, moving under the cover of fine mesh of ... oh. Oh! It's finally happening. Never expected it to be my CO, but here goes my report! Fucking finally.

Okay, so the network board thought that it'd be good business to get some eyes on the event because nobody knows just what the hell is happening there. It was this or the whole section gets plugged in to the AI machine, sans bodies, to produce believable lies that would sell well. The word is Martian network is doing this already and our analysts say that they might have plugged in several hundred thousand creatives to tell y'all how they're freezing their fingers off and how itchy their skin is as they fight zealots in ice caves full of human popsicles, but it's all a dream, the boys with electronically enhanced schizophrenia say.

So I drew the short straw on the draft in our sector. Not sure if that was the only straw to be drawn, but can't ask. Undercover reporter, they said. Very hush-hush or aneurysm just so happens as soon as the chip detects a word from a list I was not privy to know. Be a good girl and follow orders, and you'll be fine, they said. And when you feel a tingle/twitch under your right nostril, talk, they said. The Scoop will be relayed back.

Glad to finally get that twitch, brother. It's been years.

They also said something about fame, after so long, I forget. No word on going home, if you can call that home. Frankly, I'm not sure if Europa is worse, man. Sure, it's cold, and whatever creatives got fed to the machine, they must have been some really good ones, because they got the ice tunnels, the clones and the zealots just right. Relay that to the board. Could have saved a pretty penny instead of sending some poor bastardess several AUs away to shoot at zealots for years and still get no damn Scoop.

Yeah, yeah, you heard me right broseph - ain't nobody told me shit as to why this is happening, who we're fighting, really, and to what end. Sure there's strange shit happening all over the place, from barren icy surface under the maddening eye of Jove, to the endless watery depths calling divers to detach their harnesses and just float down for months; myself, I've been running around these dark tunnels, under six different COs, lost five god damn fingers in total and the closest I got to what couls be called the truce is when my third one shouted something something something about refusing to corrupt the purity of bodily fluids and ran into the tunnels without a flashlight never to be seen a gun, I'm telling you bloserph, those were the most difficult five cyclops until them finali sen replas -- ey waitam is not gool, fingat warm oh no no no n

[pluck-heartstrings]

It is done. I have completed them. I feel very fulfilled. I don’t have names for the first two but their information is on my blog. You get to have Crackle as a Pluck exclusive because you’re cool. He used to be from the gutters of the same village Eclipse was from, but they’ve never met. Was adopted by creator of the twins. His eyes rusted and rot away and he uses a screen to show how he feels. He sounds like a flight attendant but he is very emotional. When taken in by the castle he was too quick and bulky for the kitchen but too soft for a knight. When the messenger birds were down due to the cold he was a last resort and he ended up being really good at it. He brings back stuff for the twins. Sadly, he’s had to stay back for a while (even though he’d rather be traveling) because of a certain consort; and now he has to change his entire get up because of a sigil change. Very negative feelings towards Eclipse. Thank you for letting me rant and live rent free in your ask box. And name suggestions for the first two would be appreciated.

Oh these are so fun!!! I love the animalistic design of the automatons and how well they'd mesh with the world of Celestial Meridian. The castle is getting busier! More full of lovely automatons!

Crackle having a screen for a face is so interesting, I bet it would come in handy relaying messages. Heck, he could probably relay video messages too!

The twins are also absolutely adorable. I've been trying to come up with names that would be worthy of them considering how cute they are and the backstory that you provided, and honestly I keep going back to Sirius and Cygnus (both kinda bird names and both binary stars which go well with the twin thing). You don't have to pick them if you don't like them, and if you need more name ideas then I'm sure that the lovely folk here on tumblr would be willing to give some ideas too.

Thank you so much for this blessing!!! The world of Celestial Meridian grows ever larger!!

[kaijuposting]

Jaegers of Pacific Rim: What do we know about them?

There's actually a fair amount of lore about Pacific Rim's jaegers, though most of it isn't actually in the movie itself. A lot of it has been scattered in places like Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters, Tales From Year Zero, Travis Beacham's blog, and the Pacific Rim novelization.

Note that I will not be including information from either Pacific Rim: Uprising or Pacific Rim: The Black. Uprising didn't really add anything, and The Black's take on jaegers can easily be summed up as "simplified the concept to make a cartoon for children."

So what is there to know about jaegers, besides the fact that they're piloted by two people with their brains connected via computer?

Here's a fun fact: underneath the hull (which may or may not be pure iron), jaegers have "muscle strands" and liquid data transfer technology. Tendo Choi refers to them in the film when describing Lady Danger's repairs and upgrades:

Solid iron hull, no alloys. Forty engine blocks per muscle strand. Hyper-torque driver for every limb and a new fluid synapse system.

The novelization by Alex Irvine makes frequent references to this liquid data transfer tech. For example:

The Jaeger’s joints squealed and began to freeze up from loss of lubricant through the holes Knifehead had torn in it. Its liquid-circuit neural architecture was misfiring like crazy. (Page 29.)

He had enough fiber-optic and fluid-core cabling to get the bandwidth he needed. (Page 94.)

Newt soldered together a series of leads using the copper contact pins and short fluid-core cables. (Page 96.)

Unfortunately I haven't found anything more about the "muscle strands" and what they might be made of, but I do find it interesting that jaegers apparently have some sort of artificial muscle system going on, especially considering Newt's personnel dossier in the novel mentioned him pioneering research in artificial tissue replication at MIT.

The novelization also mentions that the pilots' drivesuits have a kind of recording device for their experiences while drifting:

This armored outer layer included a Drift recorder that automatically preserved sensory impressions. (Page 16.)

It was connected through a silver half-torus that looked like a travel pillow but was in fact a four-dimensional quantum recorder that would provide a full record of the Drift. (Page 96.)

This is certainly... quite the concept. Perhaps the PPDC has legitimate reasons for looking through the memories and feelings of their pilots, but let's not pretend this doesn't enable horrific levels of privacy invasion.

I must note, though, I haven't seen mention of a recording system anywhere outside of the novel. Travis Beacham doesn't mention it on his blog, and it never comes up in either Tales From Year Zero or Tales From The Drift, both written by him. Whether there just wasn't any occasion to mention it or whether this piece of worldbuilding fell by the wayside in Beacham's mind is currently impossible to determine.

Speaking of the drivesuits, let's talk about those more. The novelization includes a few paragraphs outlining how the pilots' drivesuits work. It's a two-layer deal:

The first layer, the circuity suit, was like a wetsuit threaded with a mesh of synaptic processors. The pattern of processor relays looked like circuitry on the outside of the suit, gleaming gold against its smooth black polymer material. These artificial synapses transmitted commands to the Jaeger’s motor systems as fast as the pilot’s brain could generate them, with lag times close to zero. The synaptic processor array also transmitted pain signals to the pilots when their Jaeger was damaged.

...

The second layer was a sealed polycarbonate shell with full life support and magnetic interfaces at spine, feet, and all major limb joints. It relayed neural signals both incoming and outgoing. This armored outer layer included a Drift recorder that automatically preserved sensory impressions.

...

The outer armored layer of the drivesuit also kept pilots locked into the Conn-Pod’s Pilot Motion Rig, a command platform with geared locks for the Rangers’ boots, cabled extensors that attached to each suit gauntlet, and a full-spectrum neural transference plate, called the feedback cradle, that locked from the Motion Rig to the spine of each Ranger’s suit. At the front of the motion rig stood a command console, but most of a Ranger’s commands were issued either by voice or through interaction with the holographic heads-up display projected into the space in front of the pilots’ faces. (Page 16.)

Now let's talk about the pons system. According to the novelization:

The basics of the Pons were simple. You needed an interface on each end, so neuro signals from the two brains could reach the central bridge. You needed a processor capable of organizing and merging the two sets of signals. You needed an output so the data generated by the Drift could be recorded, monitored, and analyzed. That was it. (Page 96.)

This is pretty consistent with other depictions of the drift, recording device aside. (Again, the 4D quantum recorder never comes up anywhere outside of the novel.)

The development of the pons system as we know it is depicted in Tales From Year Zero, which goes into further detail on what happened after Trespasser's attack on San Francisco. In this comic, a jaeger can be difficult to move if improbably calibrated. Stacker Pentecost testing out a single arm describes the experience as feeling like his hand is stuck in wet concrete; Doctor Caitlin Lightcap explains that it's resistance from the datastream because the interface isn't calibrated to Pentecost's neural profile. (I'm guessing that this is the kind of calibration the film refers to when Tendo Choi calls out Lady Danger's left and right hemispheres being calibrated.)

According to Travis Beacham's blog, solo piloting a jaeger for a short time is possible, though highly risky. While it won't cause lasting damage if the pilot survives the encounter, the neural overload that accumulates the longer a pilot goes on can be deadly. In this post he says:

It won't kill you right away. May take five minutes. May take twenty. No telling. But it gets more difficult the longer you try. And at some point it catches up with you. You won't last a whole fight start-to-finish. Stacker and Raleigh managed to get it done and unplug before hitting that wall.

In this post he says:

It starts off fine, but it's a steep curve from fine to dead. Most people can last five minutes. Far fewer can last thirty. Nobody can last a whole fight.

Next, let's talk about the size and weight of jaegers. Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters lists off the sizes and weights of various jaegers. The heights of the jaegers it lists (which, to be clear, are not all of them) range from 224 feet to 280 feet. Their weights range from 1850 tons to 7890 tons. Worth noting, the heaviest jaegers (Romeo Blue and Horizon Brave) were among the Mark-1s, and it seems that these heavy builds didn't last long given that another Mark-1, Coyote Tango, weighed 2312 tons.

And on the topic of jaeger specs, each jaeger in Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters is listed with a (fictional) power core and operating system. For example, Crimson Typhoon is powered by the Midnight Orb 9 power core, and runs on the Tri-Sun Plasma Gate OS.

Where the novelization's combat asset dossiers covers the same jaegers, this information lines up - with the exception of Lady Danger. PR:MMM says that Lady Danger's OS is Blue Spark 4.1; the novelization's dossier says it's BLPK 4.1.

PR:MMM also seems to have an incomplete list of the jaegers' armaments; for example, it lists the I-22 Plasmacaster under Weaponry, and "jet kick" under Power Moves. Meanwhile, the novelization presents its armaments thus:

I-22 Plasmacaster Twin Fist gripping claws, left arm only Enhanced balance systems and leg-integral Thrust Kickers Enhanced combat-strike armature on all limbs

The novel's dossiers list between 2-4 features in the jaegers' armaments sections.

Now let's move on to jaeger power cores. As many of you probably already know, Mark-1-3 jaegers were outfitted with nuclear power cores. However, this posed a risk of cancer for pilots, especially during the early days. To combat this, pilots were given the (fictional) anti-radiation drug, Metharocin. (We see Stacker Pentecost take Metharocin in the film.)

The Mark-4s and beyond were fitted with alternative fuel sources, although their exact nature isn't always clear. Striker Eureka's XIG supercell chamber implies some sort of giant cell batteries, but it's a little harder to guess what Crimson Typhoon's Midnight Orb 9 might be, aside from round.

Back on the topic of nuclear cores, though, the novelization contains a little paragraph about the inventor of Lady Danger's power core, which I found entertaining:

The old nuclear vortex turbine lifted away from the reactor housing. The reactor itself was a proprietary design, brainchild of an engineer who left Westinghouse when they wouldn’t let him use his lab to explore portable nuclear miniaturization tech. He’d landed with one of the contractors the PPDC brought in at its founding, and his small reactors powered many of the first three generations of Jaegers. (Page 182.)

Like... I have literally just met this character, and I love him. I want him to meet Newt Geiszler, you know? >:3

Apparently, escape pods were a new feature to Mark-3 jaegers. Text in the novelization says, "New to the Mark III is an automated escape-pod system capable of ejecting each Ranger individually." (Page 240.)

Finally, jaegers were always meant to be more than just machines. Their designs and movements were meant to convey personality and character. Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters says:

Del Toro insisted the Jaegers be characters in and of themselves, not simply giant versions of their pilots. Del Toro told his designers, "It should be as painful for you to see a Jaeger get injured as it is for you to see the pilot [get hurt.]" (Page 56.)

Their weathered skins are inspired by combat-worn vehicles from the Iraq War and World War II battleships and bombers. They look believable and their design echoes human anatomy, but only to a point. "At the end of the day, what you want is for them to look cool," says Francisco Ruiz Velasco. "It's a summer movie, so you want to see some eye candy." Del Toro replies, "I, however, believe in 'eye protein,' which is high-end design with a high narrative content." (Page 57.)

THE JAEGER FROM DOWN UNDER is the only Mark 5, the most modern and best all-around athlete of the Jaegers. He's also the most brutal of the Jaeger force. Del Toro calls him "sort of brawler, like a bar fighter." (Page 64.)

And that is about all the info I could scrounge up and summarize in a post. I think there's a lot of interesting stuff here - like, I feel that the liquid circuit and muscle tissue stuff gives jaegers an eerily organic quality that could be played for some pretty interesting angles. And I also find it interesting that jaegers were meant to embody their own sort of character and personality, rather than just being simple combat machines or extensions of their pilots - it's a great example of a piece of media choosing thematic correctness over technical correctness, which when you get right down to it, is sort of what Pacific Rim is really all about.

[asurastro]

@dustxechoes

The memory of the planet dubbed "Carlos McConnell" felt different somehow. Familiar, yet some of its most esoteric practices-- to even casual habits of the inhabitants, felt strangely distant. Some things, she would never fully connect with, even learning as much as she could everyday. Some things to cherish, some things that didn't mesh with the life she wanted for herself. But it was still her heritage all the same.

The structure that passed for her family-- an assembly, was loosely knit. Those of some large genetic commonality, others overlapping from other smaller groupings. The most immediate of whom, offer the basic necessities of food and shelter. Given in legitimate fondness, though in some part due to the endeavors of the day-- an investment.

Felinids in large were not unlike other baseline lifeforms, save for some slight differences. But Aisha was brought up in a batch of veritable jungle cats. Put through a path of hellfire and thunder to wield as much herself, to take it in stride. And she did: albeit, to a less unflinching degree than her play cousins.

Still. This was a style of energy-slinging, one of many-- but unique in its more Felinid flair. The Galactic Volunteer Service had such beings as their most esteemed members. Able to observe macro and micro, through a cosmic sensory awareness. And their raw destructive output, feared and famed...

____

Dirt World was meant to help the struggling kitten thrive. In various ways it did, even as her assembly did not concur. Thus, the minimum of maintenance-- of "care" was applied. Success through hardship and all that. Pitted against armed combatants, atypical wildlife, and other paranormal forces for variety.

♫

Though the more pedestrian inhabitants of the planet were soft and too many were even downright ill or possessing little material, these people shared what they could when she came around. Perhaps for that, she survived to grow older.

There was a certain practice based around such generosity. One that called for warriors to actively pursue peace...

____

It wasn't hard to find others. Though perhaps the caliber had been overstated.

The initial group had started with Socket. A slasher, a sorcerer, for whom all his dealings demanded he one-up the other person, be it verbally or by acquisition of new, more terrible magic. Even if they were a friend. Ever one to escalate encounters until he held the advantage. Then, he was "affable" again.

Ectoette, the density-shifter with the banshee scream. She carried herself as a paragon too. The warmth of the All-American girl next door. Provided that fantasy never came crashing down, and she never lashed out in a panic. On some quest of eternal manners. No action of hers was conducted without polite regard.

Grizzly, the offspring of the revered ursine-themed lawman of the future, KodiaKop. A heavily-armed, body-armored foulmouth. Sadly, the most honest of the bunch. Priding himself on a lack of filter, putting his faith in gunpowder and steel. Only somewhat stronger than the average human compared to his peers. Mocking them for their outlandish origins and capabilities, even when his jeers made little sense. As long as they offended.

There were others along the way. Some would stick around, some knew to hit the road. In any case, they all hung out. They did the fun things teenagers-going-on-young-adults did, video games and movies, music and dancing, united in playing pranks and sneaking booze and smokes.

It was better than doing these things alone.

♫

Eventually they made it big. Or at least, they did something noteworthy and Grizzly relayed it to his Pater. Gone were the days they took whatever they could find scrounging the streets, or the listings online for contracts-- that market was being dominated by the new Pithy Randos powershare app.

So they hit it big with the Enforcers. An Earth-first off-shoot of an older group. Once a mid-century militia meant to pool efforts in the face of large-scale threats. Its members scattered, but their headcount made them formidable. Now they were organized, followed a private military approach to things that other major league supergroups hadn't aimed for. And now they wanted a batch of new recruits.

Life made sense. Rocketing around in his powered-exo armor, Shootsuit fired steady concussive beams from the sky to mow through foes wholesale with a side of witty repartee and bought everyone victory burritos afterwards. And so very many times after that too. Bed time was never with him. Lady Pastella on the other hand was perennially fed-up, a strict headmistress of her own academy for magical girls-- never allowing them to deviate from the house style she popularized. Of all their mentors, they were the most prominent. Cheery teachers that embraced naivete-- not decency-- willingly and half-hearted drill sergeants who already hit their corrupt jackpot.

It was like Hollywood and the Military-Industrial Complex, but instead of merely intertwining, they had fused!

But life for Aisha and the old gang went swimmingly. They were billed as the successors to the founders, destined to take the reins one day. Everyone was so proud of Aisha-- she followed orders, she didn't hesitate, and the fans couldn't help but latch onto the catgirl, from a PR standpoint. Better than the other space case, they always said as if for a moment she wasn't in the room.

Then the day came. Fire and brimstone. Surrendering ne'er-do-wells cut down, captured, whatever. Then he landed with a sonic boom. A few other ragtag rebels opting to stand with him. Socket just sneered and snickered. Grizzly loaded ammunition. Ectoette called for civility. A dozen others prepared weapons and superpowers of all stripes. The ideal was always to be in excess of the enemy. Any enemy. Never compromising, or all would surely be lost. Heroes never gave up, right?

"Enforcers, ENGULF!"

♫

The order included the veterans' star pupil, the peers' MVP-- Aisha. She had to put down the interlopers, including Rex! This was her time to decide who she was. What she would make of the world-- Earth and beyond. Her challenge wasn't to survive. It was to paint a picture. The canvas? The course of history for this entire illusionary reality.

But for a moment, her supposed war buddies looked at each other. Even if Aisha refuted all that Rex tried to warn her about. The only thing Aisha couldn't affect were their wills. And they couldn't do with a potential liability.